Time Bump
by bayre
Summary: Where time comes crashing down. People are dying near the long ago abandoned Trumpeter Mine. The brothers find more than ghosts. An old, haunted mine and a pack of human thieves, what's not to love?
1. Chapter 1

_(**A/N:** In my happy fanfic world Sam never died, so Dean never made his deal and yadda yadda yadda never happened. The boys are their current ages in this fic and I'm not above using cannon or events from any of the four seasons aired to date, excluding the parts that have to do with the yadda yadda yadda.)_

_Mucho and many thanks to Vanessa and Cookie6 for the awesome and wonderful betas. This fic is dedicated to the very nice and **patient** _bhoney_ who was kind enought to donate money to the _Support Stacie_ fund in return for a fic._

_No infringement intended._

* * *

_**Trumpeter Mine, 1863…**_

_Water trickled down the rough stone inner walls, glistening and dividing into tiny vertical rivulets. A hand, as rough and rugged as the ground the mine was carved from skimmed over the moisture. Silas Turner pulled his hand away, rubbed forefinger and thumb together and grunted. As pretty as it might be it was a bad sign. A very bad sign. Heavy rains were weakening the land around the mine. _

_He'd been born in this part of Wyoming, his daddy and his daddy before that in a time Wyoming was just a pretty piece of mostly unknown, unexplored land. Descended from French fur traders of the far north and the local natives Silas knew this land, this rock._

_Not to mention he was a big believer in signs._

_These people were fools, ignoring the signs. Greedy, stupid fools who thought a few chunks of rock were worth the lives of dozens of men, some nothing more than boys come to work here when they were barely sixteen._

_A sound, more a vibration below his range of hearing made him jerk his hand away from the wall. His breath caught in his chest when the low rumble turned to a roar. Running as fast as he could to the main shaft entry point, he clanged a bell there furiously. The men below would feel the shifting of the earth of course. The bell was more to warn the town. _

_Dust and debris crashed down around him as the ground bucked and tossed him toward the ceiling. Silas closed his eyes, drew in a deep, final breath and became with the land he'd loved his entire life_.

_**White Water City, Wyoming, present day…**_

It was delicate work, but Sam felt competent and was confident he could do this. He'd sure done it enough, having spent probably half—no scratch that—three-quarters, of his life in some beat up, run down, dirt dive of a bar watching Dean. He watched Dean play—hustle—pool, get involved in a game of poker—card shark—or pick up girls—yet just another form of hustle. In the course of such observations, Sam had come up with many, and often imaginative, ways to entertain himself.

This was one such way.

Some might consider it poking the bear, but Sam liked to live on the edge.

Carefully lining up his own shot, Sam hunched over the table and scooted his chair to one side for the right angle. The light was just right, not too much shadow. He should probably check the wind in case one of the charming patrons of this dirt dive bar farted, but he did like living on the edge and all. Adjusting his finger holding his weapon tipped slightly to the side, Sam drew back one finger on his other hand making an "O" with thumb and forefinger.

Deep breath to steady his nerves. One final check on his target—this was touchy work—and Sam flicked his finger loose from his thumb, hit the small projectile and let it fly.

Dean's eyes barely flitted away from the hand of cards. The only sign of irritation was his tongue running between his teeth and lips. The peanut had gone down the front of Dean's shirt. Sam bit down on his lower lip and turned away, covering his grin by slurping down some more beer. He grabbed a handful of peanuts from the bowl on his table and set up another one to flip at Dean. Heaven knew he wasn't about to eat any of the peanuts, he'd starve before putting any food from this place into his mouth. It was bad enough he had to drink the swill they referred to as beer. He figured at least that had alcohol in it to kill off any germs.

Another peanut was sent flying at Dean, this one taking up residence in his hair. Sam was working on yet another peanut torpedo when the others at the table started laying their cards down and Dean grinned broadly, hands moving over the table and scooping a rather respectable pile of cash to his chest. He nonchalantly rubbed one hand over his hair. The peanut there bounced free and hit the floor. Standing and stretching Dean fanned himself with his button down shirt, two more peanuts fell free.

Dean quirked an eyebrow in Sam's direction. Sam shrugged and held up his beer, took another sip and turned toward the TV on the wall. He could practically hear Dean's eyes roll.

Two of the men left the table and another two joined. Sam knew he'd be stuck here for another hour at least. In turns the local poker 'experts' were taking a crack at beating Dean, and they were all getting their wallets lightened. The idea to stop inviting Dean into their poker games didn't seem to take hold, they simply weren't getting it. Sam couldn't complain too much, it was Dean's hustling skills that had kept him fed and in clothes for the majority of his life. Credit cards were great, but cash was better, untraceable and far easier to come by.

They'd been here three days now, and the situation didn't look like it was going to change much. Their current potential hunt was elusive and difficult and Sam was beginning to think a dead end, no pun intended.

It was Wyoming in February, as Sam had pointed out to Dean the first day they were in town, and he'd listened to Dean bitch about the weather, do the math. It snowed, let up for a few hours and snowed some more. The roads were crap, the Impala not exactly an all terrain vehicle. It was cold, boring and the best part? Dean had gone and made some friends. Guys who wanted to play poker, discuss car parts and thought hunting involved deer, Jack Daniels and loose women.

Yee freaking ha.

Sam snagged the chair opposite him with his ankle, swung it closer and plopped his feet up. Here he was south of Cody, west of Meeteetse, in the shadow of the Grand Tetons, in short the middle of nowhere USA. It was boring, cold, and his brother had abandoned him for a bunch of sweaty poker-playing goons with questionable hygiene and not a complete set of teeth between them. All stupid enough to keep trying to beat Dean at poker.

Dean was loving the _break_.

Sam was not.

To top it all off, their motel room had a bathtub that had been new a century ago at least. There was a shower curtain around it and a handheld shower head that came to somewhere around the middle of Sam's chest. He still hadn't figured out how to wash his hair, hold the shower head and stand upright all at the same time.

Sam was definitely _not_ enjoying the break, and he'd probably had too much beer and not enough food. At least the food at the motel diner was edible, some was actually enjoyable.

Scratching at the back of his head, Sam yawned and dropped a few dollars on the table, stood and stretched. Pulling on his jacket and zipping it, Sam glanced at Dean, tipping his chin slightly as he lumbered toward the door. Once he stepped outside, the cold and wind assaulted him. He had to stop and stand still for a minute to get his bearings in the flying snow. Tiny flecks of white landed on his shoulders and melted down his back after dripping off his hair. Hunching further into his jacket, Sam decided to rethink the jacket-hoodie combo, maybe he should just get some of Dean's poker winnings and buy himself a coat if they were going to hang around icebox USA. Shoving his hands as deeply into his pockets as possible…add gloves to the shopping list…Sam stepped away from the bar and started across the parking lot.

He was just outside the circle of light from the outside of the bar when he heard the crunching of footsteps behind him. Stopping, Sam half turned and waited.

"Sam."

"I can walk back." He cut Dean off before he could start. "It's not even a half mile. I don't mind."

Digging the car keys out of his pocket, Dean jogged at him. "Yeah, well I mind." His elbow nudged against Sam's side, forcing Sam to sidestep and change direction, aimed at the Impala now.

"I'm a big, grown up boy, Dean."

"You'll never be that grown." Dean unlocked the car and trotted to the other side. "Minnesota. People who keep body parts in jars on their kitchen counter."

Sam groaned and rolled his eyes, but got into the car. Poor Dean was likely never going to get over having to spring Sam out of that bit of trouble. Apparently it made Dean feel better to drive Sam back, and the truth be told, it was cold and walking back to their motel wasn't the most exciting prospect.

Dean guided the car out of the parking lot and onto the road. "Besides I'm just this side of pissing them off. And you have to admit, Sam, between the two of us you seem to attract more crazies that want to whisk you off to their secret lair. It's not like neither one of us hasn't gone missing before. Walking around in a snowstorm in the dark on a deserted country road is just plain asking for it."

"They wanted their money back, didn't they?"

Grinning over at Sam for a few seconds before shifting his gaze back to the snow covered road, Dean nodded. "I think they were about to get there. Best we all parted friends." Eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, Dean jerked a thumb over his shoulder before grasping the steering wheel with both hands again.

Sam twisted in his seat, scanned the road behind them. "Nothing."

"I'm going to take the scenic route anyway."

Yawning, Sam slid down a bit in the seat, eyes darting to the side view mirror every few minutes until they were both satisfied they hadn't been followed. Dean turned the car in the direction of their motel. Ten minutes later he was trailing behind his brother into their room. He'd never tell Dean of course, but Sam was glad he hadn't come back alone, motels were boring at best, and Sam was always a bit lonely when he was in one by himself.

Dean wandered to the bathroom, back out a few minutes later. "Hey, Sammy, the bathtub is big enough you can fit into it. Take a bath instead of using that shower spray thing."

Sam set his computer bag on the table and ambled over to the bathroom, rocking up on his toes ever so slightly to peer over Dean's shoulder. There was, just as Dean had said a bathtub, complete with claw feet that looked to be about seven feet long. "Huh, I haven't taken an actual bath and soaked since…uh…since…"

"About a month before your fourteenth birthday.

Pulling his eyebrows together, Sam huffed, "how do you _even_ know this stuff?"

Dean snorted and tapped one finger against his temple, "Steel trap, Sammy, mind like a steel trap."

"I think the trap needs some WD40." Sam grumbled and walked away.

Doing a side dive and landing on his butt on his bed, Dean had the remote in one hand as he scooted back toward the headboard. "Let's see, fishing, hunting, weather, oh and rodeo." He clicked the TV off. "I think we should hit the library in the morning. Elias, the guy with the two front teeth missing," Dean tapped his own teeth for emphasis, "He mentioned a few things that sounded a bit odd. You want pizza or head out for some sit down grub?"

Sam blinked at Dean for a few seconds. He should be used to his brother's ability to carry on multiple conversations at the same time, but some days it still threw him. "Sit down _grub_?"

Dean shrugged and grinned. "You could've eaten at the bar."

"Did you see the food there? Did you notice there were no towels in the bathroom? Pizza. With chicken fingers."

Nodding, Dean pulled a face and reached for the stack of menus on the nightstand, took out his phone and started dialing.

"And a coat, one of those down-filled kind with thermal gloves."

Quirking an eyebrow, Dean shook his head, and ordered their food. "The peanuts were good enough to throw at me," Dean said, dropping his phone on the nightstand. "You want to hear what I found out while you were so busy goofing off?"

"What? I was keeping the surroundings covered, for your safety."

"From the parking lot?" Dean asked dryly.

Sam smiled, "Reconnoitering. Perimeter checking."

"Uh huh. So Elias—"

Sam pulled his lips up and tapped his front teeth, "Not a dentist."

Dean glared daggers, and Sam pulled his lower lip between his teeth to keep from bursting out laughing. Living on the edge and all, what fun. "It seems, smarty pants, that a few people have gone missing along a road not far from a mine that collapsed in the eighteen hundreds. Now, I didn't pay much attention until Stoney…" Waving one hand around the top of his head, "guy with shaved head…"

"Not an attractive look."

"Not at all," Dean agreed. "Stoney mentioned that the victims were all descendants of the original owners of, not just that mine, but a few others from this part of the country. All the families owned mines that had some collapse and people died."

When there was knock at the door, Dean rolled neatly off the bed, talking over his shoulder as he walked. "It seemed a bit odd to me that such a specific…" he opened the door, and handed over money, "Naw, it's a shitty night, you keep the change, dude. Thanks. Group of people would up and vanish." Setting the food on the table, Dean settled in the chair and started opening containers. "I thought you were hungry?"

Sam decided that was a true talent Dean had. Grinning, Sam settled into the chair opposite his brother and pulled a slice of pizza from the box, munching. "You thinking some kind of ghost?"

Dean beamed around his pizza and slurped down a huge gulp of pop, "Sammy, dude, haunted mine! Next to a haunted strip joint, that's aces!"

"_Aces_? _Grub_? You don't get to play with those guys anymore." Sam had to admit the prospect of investigating an actual haunted mine hit a number of happy chords in him. "On one condition."

Dean stopped chewing and gave him the _Dean-Winchester-picture-of-innocence_ look. "Wa?"

"We don't for any reason, and I mean under any circumstances, not ever do we walk _into_ one of those old, rickety mines."

Deflating a bit, Dean grumbled out something unintelligible. Sam kicked him under the table, "Ow, okay, Sam, sheesh ya' big pansy girl."

"Those things collapse and kill people for a reason, they're unstable."

"Untwist your shorts, the people disappeared on the roads leading up to a certain mine not far from here, the Trumpeter Mine, or it was the Trumpeter Mine. As far as I could find out there wasn't anything actually happening in the mine itself, we probably won't have to go into it. I don't know what you're so worked up for, it's not like clowns live in there."

Sam narrowed his eyes for a few seconds, finished off his dinner and stood up, heading for the bathroom. "Whatever, Dean."

Pushing the stopper into the tub drain, Sam cranked the water on full blast. In a few minutes, the tub was filling with steaming, hot water. He swished his hand around in it for a few minutes. This might not be so bad. Not that he'd tell Dean that or imply his brother was right about a bath instead of a shower. He was stripped down to his boxers when Dean's voice behind him nearly had him jumping out of his skin and through a wall.

"I have to see how you get those giraffe legs of yours in there." Dean mimicked climbing, arms and legs slowly wheeling through the air making him look like some B-movie monster.

Sam shoved against his shoulder, pushing him out of the bathroom, "Dean, out!"

Dean snickered. When Sam heard him settle back on his bed and the TV click on, he finished undressing and climbed into the tub. The water was pleasantly hot and surrounded him, loosening all his muscles at once. Leaning back and relaxing further, Sam sighed. This was nice. He still wasn't telling Dean he'd been right, though.

Sam swished one toe around in the water for a few minutes, but that got boring. Then he flicked some at the wall, but that was no fun, the wall didn't care. Not like Dean with the peanuts. Tipping his head back, he stared at the ceiling and counted the cracks.

"Hey, Dean, now what do I do in here?"

"You relax and enjoy it."

"I'm bored."

The sound of feet hitting the floor and something clunking…it sounded like Dean's head against the wall…then the rustle of hands through a duffel. A book sailed through the partially opened door, whacked Sam's hand and dropped to the floor.

"_The History of Herbal Spells_? You gave me the easy reading."

"If you don't want to read Sam, just use your imagination then."

Sam opened the book and blocked out the sound of his brother's laughter from the other room. Next time Sam was using peanuts still in the shell.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks so much to Deej1957 for the wonderful beta!

* * *

The library was about as exciting as Dean had anticipated it being. They did manage to dig up some interesting details, mainly on how owners of larger mines in eighteen hundreds, the United States seemed to care more for profit than for the men who worked the mines. Nothing, however seemed overly pertinent to their case. He got a crash course in mining techniques from a few books, cause, yeah, that was going to come in handy. Even Dean's love of things mechanical didn't keep the boredom at bay.

Sam finally conceded the fact they needed to go take a look at the section of roadway in question, though they were both skeptical they'd find much. The clouds had mostly cleared out and now the only blowing snow was what was picked up and moved around on a soft wind. The mine was about twenty minutes outside of town, tucked against a mountain. Farther to the west was what was left of the mining town: skeletal buildings, half rotted out walkways and enough debris to fill several dump trucks.

A ghost town.

They'd grabbed some to-go food on the way and now sat in the middle of Main Street, Ghost Town munching burgers and peering out at old, partially demolished buildings.

"It's hard to imagine this used to be full of people." Sam bent down and cranked his head back, eyes skimming along the rooftops as he stuck the straw from his drink in his mouth.

"Uh huh, real slice of old time Americana. Let's get this over with." Dean reluctantly shoved the door to the Impala open and moved from its warm interior to the cold outside. As he turned and shut the door he caught a glimpse of Sam's eye roll and grinned. Leaning on the car roof he waited for his brother to unbend out of the car.

Sam at once drew his jacket in closer and shivered.

Dean cleared his throat wanting to be sure Sam saw the lifted eyebrows. "Are you really that cold?"

Nodding, Sam yanked the hood of his sweatshirt up and over his head then dug his fists into his pockets. "Yeah." He shrugged. "Two shirts, a flannel, a sweatshirt and this," he pulled one hand free and hooked his thumb in the denim jacket folds for a second before shoving his hand back into his pocket. "And it still isn't cutting it."

As Sam rounded the front of the Impala, Dean stepped away from the car just close enough to rub a hand up and down Sam's spine between his shoulder blades a few times. "I saw a feed and grain store near the library, we can hit that on the way back and see what they have in the way of winter gear."

"Nah, Dean, it's okay, I don't—"

"Stow it." Dean stopped in the middle of the street. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet for a few seconds then sighed. Waving halfheartedly at the buildings to his left, he muttered, "I'll go," before twisting far enough to flap one hand at the buildings on the other side of the street, "And you…"

"Take those." Sam grinned. Knocking his elbow against Dean's side Sam stepped away, turned his head and said over his shoulder, "Be careful."

"You, too."

Dean headed for the closest building; it looked as if it'd been some sort of store at one time. The old wooden door was no match for the weight he put behind the push of his shoulder and it easily creaked open. The wind lifted a film of dust off the floor and sent it swirling through the shafts of sunlight filtering through dirt smudged windows.

Standing quietly just inside the doorway, he gave his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the lower lighting. Hands on hips, he turned in a circle, making a quick visual survey of where every thing was in the place.

"Okay, ghosties, demons, whatever is in here, it's Dean Winchester," he thumped his chest a few times with his knuckles, "professional hunter, not like those goofy ghost buster guys. I can do you serious damage, so just don't mess with me."

The room was a large space divided by the remnants of shelves. Most were splintered, broken in half and had a fine sheen of green from summer mould. Centered along the back wall was a counter, an antique cash register and a few broken glass jars tucked next to it near one end. Dean wandered behind the counter and jabbed a finger at the register, grinning when it dinged and the drawer popped open.

Finding nothing of interest in the register or the storage space behind the counter, he meandered up and down between the shelves. There were a few items still on the shelves; foods canned and jarred two centuries prior, moth eaten material that might have once been shirts and jeans. He found a Sam-sized coat hanging at the end of one of the shelves still mostly intact. Grabbing it off the hook, Dean gave it a shake, jumped back and laughed outright when down filling shot out from holes in the back along with a few mice.

"Ooopss, sorry, guys." He dropped the coat onto the floor near where the mice had landed. "You keep that, I don't think Sam will fight you for it."

He spent a few minutes rummaging through accounting books, lists of merchandise and some old newspapers he was surprised didn't crumble and fall apart when he touched them. Finding nothing of interest or use, he moved onto the next building, this one a doctor's office from the looks of it. He found about as much useful information here as in the store, so he proceeded down the street.

Like other ghost towns this one was left pretty much as it'd been in its heyday, all forgotten now. An hour later, after giving up his search, Dean wandered back to the Impala to wait for his brother.

Sam was just crossing the walkway in front of the buildings across the street. Dean couldn't help smiling a bit as Sam automatically glanced up and down the street, checking his gait before stepping off the wooden sidewalk and onto the dirt street. Sam held a rolled up paper in one hand that bumped against his thigh as he walked.

Settling against the car beside his brother, Sam rapped what was actually a magazine against Dean's shoulder. "Got you a souvenir."

Dean burst out laughing when he took a closer look at the offering. "Oooh, look at that one, her dress is up over her knee." He flipped through the pages. "Pre-Civil War porn."

"It was the best I could find."

"I guess the old west really was wild." Moving to the passenger side of the car, Dean unlocked it, opened the door and waved Sam inside. "You're freezing, get in." He shook his head, tapping Sam's shoulder with the magazine as he slipped by Dean and into the car. Sam must have been uncomfortably cold— and been that way for a while now—to simply do as Dean asked. "This whole town and the best we can find is a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old skin mag."

Sam sat in the car rubbing his hands together. He looked over as Dean dropped into the driver's seat and gave him a small, grateful smile. "Trumpeter Mine is that way." He pointed out the direction as Dean guided the car out of the town.

Eyes shifting to Sam for a few beats, Dean cranked the heater up to high, satisfied when Sam eased back in the seat after a minute, sighed and relaxed. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. It's like I got cold and can't get warm again." Expression turning sheepish, Sam shrugged. "It's probably my imagination."

"Your head is too full." Dean chuckled and scrunched his shoulder up to avoid Sam's fist coming at him. "Hey, driving here."

The trip to the mine was a short five minute drive along a deserted road that had seen far better days. The thought they might have to be back here at night made Dean want to groan. Unlit country roads in the cold and dark didn't exactly top his list of favorite places.

They parked close enough to the entrance to a have a clear view for a few hundred feet inside. Gripping the steering wheel with both hands, Dean sighed and squinted at the mine entrance. It was a rectangular doorway into the mountainside. The wooden framework, though old, was still mostly intact. Suddenly the thrill at the prospect of investigating an old, abandoned, possibly haunted mine was gone. He'd read enough to know Sam was right, these places were death traps. Seeing one up close drove that fact home and drove it home hard. Maybe Dean wasn't so concerned about himself being inside, but he sure didn't want him _and_ _Sam_ getting stuck in there.

Sam's fingers gripped Dean's sleeve. "No."

"Huh?"

"No, Dean. We're not going inside that thing. People get killed every year from accidents in abandoned mines, going where they don't belong. Those things fall apart and collapse for a reason."

"Bump."

"What?"

"A collapse in mining terms is called a 'bump'. I guess that makes it all warm and fuzzy. Sounds a whole lot better than 'tons of rock falling on your head'." The car door screeched open and Dean leaned his head out for a better view. "What the hell is that?"

"What is what, Dean?" Sam was out of the car and following him to the trunk the second Dean's feet hit the frozen ground. "Dean!" The crunch of Sam's footsteps hit his ears. "Where are you going?"

Stopping at the entrance, the light from Dean's flashlight skipped around inside the mine. "People who grew up learning about mining would know not to go in here, right? They'd know how dangerous these things are and that this area is prone to earthquakes."

"Yeah." Sam exhaled slowly from somewhere behind him.

"And everyone who disappeared did so here. Bodies found near the mine?"

"Um, yeah, some right outside, probably about where we're standing. Others were on the road."

"Stay here." Dean stepped into the mine.

"No. Wait. Don't go into there. What do you mean, _stay here_? I'm not a little kid, I don't _stay here_." Sam was following close enough behind him, Dean felt his breath.

Slamming to a halt, Dean turned and put both hands on Sam's shoulders, walking him back until he was outside the mine entrance. "Look. Spirits didn't do this. Stay here and keep an eye out. _Please_." The hair along the back of his neck bristled right along with Sam's attitude. For reasons Dean couldn't explain—decided now was not the time to question—he didn't want Sam setting foot inside the mine.

Sam's eyes skimmed the section of mine Dean's light illuminated, realization spreading over his face as what he was looking at registered. "What is all this?"

"I'm guessing some sort of storage for a chop shop, which is probably pretty close by. We should go back and check out that ghost town a bit more closely." He walked a few feet into the mine, picked up a baseball cap and showed Sam. "Look familiar?"

"Yeah." Sam followed Dean into the mine again. "Your poker pals from last night." Grabbing at his sleeve when a few bits of dust and some pebbles rolled down the wall to their right he hissed, "Dean, c'mon, we gotta get out of there."

"Would you just stay outside and keep watch for five minutes? I'm not going any farther inside. If the thing falls down I'm not getting stuck in it." He shoved Sam backwards again, held up one finger and stepped away without turning around. "I'll be two minutes and I won't be more than ten feet away."

Huffing, Sam spun on his heels, folded his arms over his chest and slumped back against the rock and wood of the entrance. "Do you think those guys were so buddy-buddy with you because of the Impala?" More bits of dirt slid along to crumple on the ground. Waving one hand at the tiny dust cloud his movements blew up, Sam turned his head far enough to arch one eyebrow and glare at him for a second before turning away.

"No. These cars are new. Those yahoos probably think the Impala is junk." Dean kicked at some parts scattered along the ground and poked through a tool chest. He picked up a fender and waved it at Sam. "I doubt the ghosts or the miners used this."

Sam barely glanced back at him. "Why would toothless Elias tell you about this mine and the disappearances, then?"

"I'm guessing because he didn't think I'd come look. Beer and whisky make men brag. They all probably thought the local spooky legend would have the opposite affect and make sure any strangers in town didn't go nosing around their hide out." Tossing the fender back onto the ground, Dean moved the light slowly over the area. He didn't see any obvious signs of power or lighting, so it was reasonable to think whoever was using this mine was only using it during the day unless they used portable gas generators.

"Can we get out of here now?" Sam's voice next to his ear made him jump.

"Stop that!" Dean snapped when Sam yanked on his sleeve, trying to move him out of the mine.

More tiny rocks tumbled down the wall from some point near the ceiling. Sam's fingers on his sleeve tightened into a fist, otherwise they both stood frozen. Drawing in a deep breath, Dean let it out slowly, eyes traveling up and down the stone walls. Grabbing Sam's jacket, he gave a firm shove. "Get out."

As Sam backpedaled he hauled Dean along with him. They stopped just outside the entrance, peering back inside. He felt Sam shiver and in the next instant shudder. Blinking, Sam stumbled back a few steps, rubbed at his eyebrows and shook his head.

"Sam?"

The temperature plummeted far below what it had been a minute ago. It was as if they'd suddenly been surrounded by an invisible arctic ice cube. Sam tugged on his sleeve with the hand still latched onto him.

"Sammy, come on, we need to—"

Squinting at the tunnel leading deeper into the mine, Dean saw lights twinkle on and flicker off almost at once, looking like gigantic fireflies. He tried shoving Sam farther away from the mine. Planting his feet, Sam suddenly shoved back. This time he grabbed Dean with both hands and shook him. Staring at Sam's face, Dean was unsure what the totally blank look on his face and in his eyes meant.

"Dean!"

Jumping at the sound of his name, "I'm right here. Sam…I'm—"

"We gotta get outta here!" Sam's voice cracked and his face went from blank to total panic.

"Come on." Dean pulled his brother after him, heading away from the mine entrance as a cloud of frozen mist filled the inside near the entrance.

"No. Dean, NO!" Sam wrenched free of his grip and ran back into the mine, tripping over some of the car parts as he went. Within seconds he'd disappeared into the dark interior.

"Sam. Where are you…?" Dean raced back to the Impala and fumbled with the key, getting it into the lock, the trunk popped open. He grabbed a shotgun with rocksalt ammo before running full tilt into the mine after Sam.

"SAM!"


	3. Chapter 3

Dean barely slowed down as he hurdled over a collection of odds and ends in his path. Shotgun gripped firmly in one hand and flashlight in the other, he ran as fast as possible over the uneven ground, slipping every few feet in loose pebbles and debris. His mind raced through the small mountain of information on mining he'd processed that morning.

Did this particular mine have shafts, or rooms and pillars, could it have both? He couldn't remember. A few key phrases stood out like glaring neon signs, unstable…likely to collapse…area geologically active. Following Sam who seemed to be following a set of tracks laid down along one of the tunnels, or were they shafts…Dean darted through a room and around the solid stone support…pillar…whatever.

Even though it was still mid-afternoon, twenty or so yards into the old mine the place was dark as midnight. How Sam was able to see where he was going was a mystery. Dean had sort of been counting on the fact Sam would simply run into a wall or something else large and solid and stop.

No such luck.

He watched Sam bolt through the mine as if he'd grown up there and knew every inch of the place. He disappeared around another turn, barely slowing down without so much as one misstep.

"Damn!" Dean spat and forced his legs to move faster.

They were through the third room—or was it around the fourth pillar?—the air was damp and cool with a musty old smell to it when Dean finally caught up with his brother. Considering the head-start Sam had on him, Dean was quite proud of his accomplishment.

"Sam!"

Sam spun and back stepped. "Dean, we've got to get out!" Now that he wasn't running in the direction he was heading, Sam's foot caught on some archaic piece of equipment and he went sprawling on his back in the dirt.

As Sam started scrambling backwards to get up and away from whatever unseen thing he thought was chasing him, Dean didn't give him the chance to get his feet underneath his body. Tucking his shotgun under one arm, he skidded to a stop beside his brother, reached down and grabbed his arm shouting, "What are you doing?"

Sam shuddered hard in his grip and ran one hand through his hair. "Where are…I was following…there were rocks…" His gaze skittered to the ceiling then bounced around the space they were in. "There were other men running…and I was following them…I thought you were with them, that they made you go with them…I couldn't catch up to you." He looked around the space, eyes growing owl-wide in the dim light from Dean's flashlight. "There were lanterns." Sam pointed with a shaky arm at the walls. Twisting side to side, he skimmed over the area. "It's just you and me."

"Yeah—" Dean's words stuck in his throat when more bits of dirt and rock slid down the wall. When even more rained down from the ceiling he swiveled around, shielding his head with one arm before bending his shoulders over Sam as his brother ducked away from the stones.

Dean yanked frantically Sam's arm and felt Sam use him as a brace to scramble off the ground then they were running, retracing their steps back to the entrance. Fingers curled tightly in the material of Sam's jacket, he didn't let go until he had the Impala car door open and had shoved Sam inside. Turning on his heels, Dean leaned against the car, hands on knees, breathing hard. It was a minute or two before he could talk.

Sam was nearly doubled over, sitting in the car but turned sideways so his feet were on the ground, elbows on his thighs, head bent and his fingers laced together over the back of his neck. Even so, Dean saw how he shook and it wasn't all from the cold.

Patting the back of Sam's neck, Dean stepped around to the back of the car, popped the trunk and grabbed a blanket. Next to Sam a second later he wrapped the blanket around his brother's shoulders. "Are you okay?"

Pulling the cover closer around him, Sam nodded, shivering. "Yeah."

"You want to explain?"

"I-I…don't…know, just what I told you already. I-I th-thought…" Wiping one hand through his hair, Sam sighed. "Shit, Dean I don't know what I thought. One minute you and I were there and the next there was dust and men running from rocks and I thought they'd dragged you with them. I _thought_ I was _chasing you_."

"Well, you weren't." He didn't mean to snap and the hurt expression creeping over Sam's face reeled in Dean's out of control emotions. "You mean like some kind of vision? Sam you haven't had one of those in…hell, I don't even know how long."

"You can tell me practically to the day when I last could fit in a bathtub but not when I last had a vision?"

Throwing his hands in the air, Dean simply blinked at Sam.

"No. It wasn't a vision, not really. Not the same as the ones I used to have. This was different." Sam shrugged looking lost and helpless. "I can't explain it. There was no headache."

"Okay," He paced back and forth aware of Sam's eyes tracking him. "So, you're still psychic, maybe something with that?"

"You never believed in that," Sam said softly.

Dean stopped and turned to face his brother. "Yes, I did…do. It freaks you out so I don't mention it much."

"It'd freak me out less if you'd believe me so I could talk about it."

Dean sighed. "Sammy, I do believe you, I've always believed you, and maybe we both should have paid more attention."

"There's another explanation."

Dean waved his hand in a circle but kept his mouth shut.

"I've got all the signs."

"Of?"

"Something in that mine, some spirit..." Sam shivered, his eyes lifted to meet Dean's. "I'm possessed by a spirit."

"Oh, Sam, that's crazy, you are not."

"Dean, I've been freezing since we've been here, I was seeing things not here…what else?" He stood up and dropped the blanket. "You need to get a gun, load it with rocksalt and shoot me."

"I'm not shooting you, Sam. I've been shot with rocksalt before, it hurts."

Rolling his eyes, Sam seemed to deflate. "I _know_ you have, _I'm_ the one who shot you."

"You didn't shoot me, the crazy ghost shot me. If you were possessed by some ghost you'd be shooting me, and the only thing you're shooting at me now is the supreme bitchface."

"Dean. Shoot me." Sam crossed his arms over his chest and stared obstinately.

"Pouting won't work either." Dean headed back to the trunk and reached inside. "And don't even go there with the kicked puppy with the eyes that look like melted chocolate, it's not working on me." He rummaged around, found a bag and stuck his hand inside. Whirling back around he faced Sam and threw a handful of rocksalt at him.

Sam's chin lowered as he watched the chunks of salt hit his chest and bounce down to rattle around between his feet for a few seconds. "I don't think that's going to have the same affect with my body as a barrier."

Dean shrugged. "It was worth a shot…uh, try."

"Fine, then try stabbing me with a silver-edged knife. Maybe that'll work. But I don't think so."

"I'm not shooting you and I'm not stabbing you." He grabbed a jug of water and held it out. "Try holy water."

"That won't work."

"Humor me." Dean shoved the bottle of holy water against Sam's chest.

Sam sighed, scowled, but drank. Wiping the sleeve of one arm across his mouth, he shrugged and handed the jug back to Dean. "Would you please shoot me?" In the next second his face crumpled, "I don't want the spirit of someone inside me. Dean? Please?"

Reaching back into the trunk, Dean pulled out a bottle of whiskey and held it out. "Take this."

"You want me to get the ghost drunk?"

"No." He rubbed along the back of his neck and looked everywhere but at Sam. "I want you to drink it because this is going to hurt." Loading a handgun with rocksalt rounds, he motioned to Sam's arm. "Roll your sleeve up. No sense in ruining a perfectly good coat."

"Dean, that's—"

"Where's it written, Sammy, it has to be center mass? Now roll up your damn sleeve or I'll knock you out, tie you up and not shoot you."

Sam took a deep pull off the bottle of whiskey, coughing and gagging. He walked to a rock and leaned back, perching against it. Holding out one arm, Sam slipped out of his jacket and rolled up his sleeve. Turning his face away and scrunching his eyes shut, he took a few deep breaths and exhaled. "Ready."

Dean backed away as far as he dared, took aim and fired. Rocksalt hit the inside of Sam's forearm, scattering across and immediately covering Sam's arm with a spray of blue and black bruise points.

"Ahhh…" Sam grabbed his arm and doubled over, sucking in and blowing out deep, harsh breaths, tears springing to his eyes. "Sonofa—damn that—ow, Dean!"

Depositing the gun in the trunk, Dean traded it for a towel and a tube of burn cream. Grabbing a handful of snow, he wrapped it in the towel and covered the distance to his brother in a few long strides. He grabbed Sam's wrist, and braced it against his own body, pressing the cool towel to the wound. "Are you okay?" It was a stupid question and he knew it.

"You _shot_ me!" Sam leaned against him, "No, I'm not okay."

"Well, whose bright idea was that? Huh? Not mine." He gently wiped the cream over Sam's arm. "Better?"

When Sam merely nodded and whimpered Dean didn't even have the heart to call him on it. "Dean, something in there made that happen to me. If it wasn't a spirit of some kind, then what was it?"

"I dunno." He took Sam's elbow and guided him to his feet, steering him back to the car. "Let's go back to the motel, get your little experiment bandaged up and do a little more digging into this area."

Stopping long enough to grab his jacket, Sam went along willingly. "You think it's the land?"

"I don't know what to think, Sammy. But something did happen to you, and I _did_ see some odd lights. People have died out here, so whatever it is, we need to take a better look at it."

Sam nodded and eased into the car, keeping the damp towel on his arm. He leaned back in the seat and rolled his head to the side, the corners of his mouth turning up when Dean cranked the heat up. "We'll find you a coat."

"You should, after shooting me and all," Sam smirked.

Dean snorted and guided the car away from the mine and back onto the road.

* * *

The bath Dean recommended made Sam feel far better than that rocksalt shot to his arm. Fresh clothes were on his bed, another sign of how guilty Dean felt for shooting him, even if it had been Sam's dumb idea. "Thanks." He waved one hand at the thick sweatpants and heavy shirts. Dean glanced up from the pad of paper in front of him and nodded before his head dipped back down. "What's that?"

"I did some more poking around online." Dean rolled off the bed and crossed to the dresser, grabbing a handful of what Sam identified as bandaging material. He set the handful of items down on the table and pointed to the chair.

Sighing, more because he was supposed to than because he was annoyed, Sam dropped into the chair and laid his arm across the table. Dean reapplied burn cream and wrapped his entire forearm with gauze, taping down the ends. "How's that feel?"

"Foolish." Sam looked up then ducked his head down, he'd been feeling more than a little silly overreacting the way he had.

Glancing out the window, Dean returned their first aid supplies to the box on the dresser and picked up his jacket and wallet. "It looks like it's going to get bad. Will you be okay for a bit while I run out and grab us some dinner?"

Sam smiled, Dean meant well. "I'll be fine." He stood stiffly, stretched and moved to his bed, dropping flat on his back.

"I'll be a half hour, tops. We'll work this out when I get back."

Nodding, Sam stared at the ceiling. He was tired and everything hurt, though he wasn't sure why. Catching a glimpse of Dean looking back over his shoulder as the door brushed quietly closed made him smile. He had to give his brother credit, positions reversed he'd have been hovering over Dean, scrutinizing his every move. Which Dean was doing, but he was more subtle about it than Sam could ever hope to be.

He let his eyelids droop farther closed and sighed again. A quick nap before Dean got back with their food and he'd be good to go.

Something above him cracked, his eyes snapped open. Sucking in a harsh breath, Sam looked around. He could have sworn he'd heard something falling on him. His eyelids drifted shut and he sighed back into sleep, rolling onto his side as he did so.

He jerked awake and groaned when something skittered down the wall over the bed, scraping with the fingernails-on-the-chalkboard type of sound. Groaning through a shudder, he rolled onto his back. "Aw, Dean, man, c'mon, quit screwing around."

Cracking his eyes open he did a lazy scan of the room.

_What the hell_?

It was dark, nearly pitch black. Nearly. Lights like those from the glow of an oil lantern winked and flickered around him, never staying on in one spot long enough for his brain to process their location. Something grainy and rough slipped through his hair and over his skin making him jolt upright. He was at once pushed back down and pinned to the bed.

Rock and dust rained down from everywhere. It had no particular point of origin, it was as if all of a sudden their motel room was filling from an avalanche comprised of earth from all sides.

Sam tried scrambling backwards on the bed, he tried sitting up, he tried doing anything to get out from under the tons of rock and gravel raining down on him. It was sucked into his nose with every inhale, filled his ears and rushed into his mouth when he opened it, shouting, "Dean!"

Voices answered him, shouting—_screaming_—at him. Mostly they were unfamiliar. The sound of pounding feet mingled with the sound of rock and dirt flying at him. Sam struggled to get up, move, run, do anything, but he was pinned to the bed, hands flailing uselessly at his sides, legs fighting to bend and move under ever increasing pressure from _everywhere_.

"Sammy!"

Dean, it was his brother, calling to him, trapped here with him. Mouth flapping open, Sam's voice was nothing than a garbled squawk when he tried to answer. His tongue was pushed flat against the back of his mouth, grit and dirt filled it and no matter how hard he tried to close his mouth, turn to his side and expel the debris he couldn't.

More and more pressed in on him. He couldn't breathe. Throat constricting, Sam's fingers scrabbled at the bed while he fought for air. His back arched, pain flared down his spine and through his lungs. Tears streamed down the side of his face and a distinct warm wetness spread over his thighs.

His entire body shuddered again and again as if he was being shaken like a rag doll.

Dying, he had no air, was being buried by tons of dirt and rock in a motel room and he was _dying_.

Jack-knifing up against his will, Sam's body shook so violently his head whip-lashed back then forward so hard his chin cracked against something the lizard part of his brain managed to identify as not his own chest.

"Sam. Sammy! Crap, Sam! Snap out of it."

Fingers gripped his shoulders with enough pressure it hurt, drawing Sam's attention away from the dirt filling his ears, nose, crumbling down his throat. Another shake and more shouting then something cold hit his face.

Shouting as he drew in a breath, this time his lungs filled with clean, sweet air that squelched the burning in his chest. Blinking, Sam reached out and grabbed at whatever was shaking him. Fingers tightening painfully in familiar leather he choked in another shuddering breath, then another.

"Sam, come on, talk to me. Sammy."

Eyes snapping open Sam flinched from the bright light reflecting around their motel room.

One shoulder was released and warm fingers cupped his face, turning it ever so slightly, bringing his brother's completely ashen face with eyes far too wide into view. "You with me?" Dean croaked the words out.

"D-d-denn…?" Sam barely recognized his own voice it was so weak and raspy. "Wh-what happened?" When Dean's arm slid around him and rapped sharply against his shoulder blades he pitched forward, letting his forehead rest against his brother's shoulder. Gulping in huge amounts of air he tried to still how his body shuddered and shivered. Glancing down he saw his jeans were dry. A shaking hand to his face told him there were no tears.

"Hey, hey…calm down, take it easy, big breaths." Dean was rambling, one hand skimming down the back of Sam's head, smoothing his hair in place, the other rubbing his back. "Deep breaths, just calm down."

It took a minute before Sam sat up, leaning away from Dean, but not letting go of him. A tentative look around and he saw the bags of food dropped on the floor and the tipped over cup next to it with pop bubbling out onto the carpet. The car keys were sprawled in the middle of the table. Dean shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto his own bed, shifting so he was sitting more on Sam's bed than perched on the edge. At once Sam wound his fingers around Dean's wrists.

Looking at Dean through swimming vision, he stammered out, "There were rocks and dirt coming from everywhere, I was being buried. I couldn't move or breathe. I could hear you, but I couldn't get free. I fell asleep waiting for you to come back and woke up being buried by rocks." The last few words came out in a rush. His fingers gripped his brother so hard his arms cramped.

"It's okay. It didn't happen." Dean gently pried loose from Sam's grip then patted the side of his neck and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"I was in the mine, Dean, when it collapsed."

Twisting in a circle, Dean scanned their room. "You must have brought something back, something that's triggering this."

"I'm not some amateur, I've done this before. I didn't bring anything back with me. What was there to bring back anyway?" He pushed off the bed and gathered the spilled drinks and dropped food bags from the floor.

"One of the women killed, the one you said was a direct descendent of the original owners, she and her husband were planning on having the mine worked on and turning it into a tourist tour type thing."

"And the chop shop guys have probably been there for a while." Sam tossed the cups into the garbage, at least their food looked salvageable.

Dean nodded. "They killed the people nosing around to keep them out of their little storage spot."

"Would they do that? I mean, they're car thieves, but murderers?"

Crossing both arms over his chest Dean gave him an annoyed look. "You ask me as if I should know how they think."

Sam shrugged and ducked his head to hide the small grin he couldn't suppress. "That explains some of it, but what about what happened to me in the mine, and now here?"

"Someone is trying to tell us something."

Sam nodded.

"We have to go back."

Nodding again, Sam swallowed hard. The way the muscle in Dean's jaw jumped he knew his brother liked the idea about as much as he did. Sam's knees picked that particular moment to wobble and turn to jelly. Grabbing the back of one of the chairs he swung it around and dropped heavily into it. "That's a h-h-horrible way t-t-to die. I c-couldn't breathe." He was stammering but didn't care. "I've n-never been so f-f-frightened in my life."

Dean's shoulders drooped. He crossed the room and laid a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I know. It's getting kind of nasty out there. We'll go back in the morning. Let's make sure nothing came back with us." When Sam glared up at him, Dean shrugged. "Humor me."

They shook out all their clothes. Dean took Sam's boots outside and rubbed them thoroughly in the snow then let them sit for an hour in the wind, finally bringing them in and declaring if that didn't wipe any residue of human remains off then nothing would.

Hours later they were sure neither one of them had accidentally picked up something a spirit could attach to and brought it back. They had returned to two explanations: Sam was possessed somehow by some spirit, which seemed pretty unlikely after all they'd gone through to make sure that wasn't the case, or, something was tapping into Sam psychically.

Either way Sam wasn't too keen on going to sleep, not wanting to relive that horrible feeling of drowning in dirt and rock. Dean's assurances he'd be there and would wake Sam up at the first sign of trouble barely assuaged those fears. Exhaustion from the day finally won over and Sam dipped into sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam kept his eyes glued to the road in front of them. One of them had to since Dean's attention kept shifting to Sam. He wouldn't have minded much, nor at all, had the snow not been flying and the car slipping and sliding. He couldn't blame Dean, not really. Yawning, Sam ran one hand through his hair and pushed aside the heaviness of his limbs and how tired he was. Twice last night he'd woken to screaming. It'd taken Dean shaking him with enough force Sam's teeth rattled together to realize the screaming was coming from him.

Twice while he slept he had the same experience, rocks and dirt piled on top of him, slamming in from all directions to bury him. As promised, Dean had been right there, ever vigilant, waking Sam and calming him with softly spoken words and kind touches. The second time had been so intense Sam felt as if he was choking when he'd really been sobbing. He'd barely had time to untangle himself from the blankets and stumble to the bathroom to empty his bladder in the toilet instead of all over himself.

Having to watch him suffer wasn't any easier on Dean than having to experience the images was for Sam. He could see it in the drawn lines of Dean's face, how his shoulders were too rigid, his back too ramrod straight. In a few short hours, Dean went from himself to someone jumpy and nervous from constant vigilance. Every time Sam so much as twitched, Dean was right there beside him telling him to breathe and calm down, which was nearly impossible with Dean so wound up.

The second time Dean woke him was an hour or so before sunrise. Dean looked worse if that were possible. He had bags under his bloodshot eyes and his hands shook ever so slightly. Refusing to drive in the blowing snow in the dark, Dean insisted they wait until there was at least some light outside.

Now Sam sat in the Impala wearing sweatshirts and coat as well as being bundled under two blankets. Dean had the heat in the car on full blast and had shed his leather jacket, draping that across Sam's chest.

"What are we going to do? We can't salt and burn the entire mine," Sam asked.

Dean shrugged and sighed. "I don't know, Sammy. I'm betting since there are a few dozen bodies in that mine somewhere that when construction was started their spirits were disturbed."

"Don't you mean pissed off? If I don't have one of them inside me, then why am I so cold?"

Slowing to a stop while a snowplow rumbled past Dean turned in his seat, looking Sam up and down. "Hell, kiddo, I don't know. My guess is it's because something is tapping into you. Do you remember feeling like this when Ellicott…" he waved one hand, "…you know?"

Sam shook his head no.

"Meg?"

Sam added a scowl to the headshake.

"Then this is something different."

"Gee, Dean, what a relief."

Dean snorted and put the car back into gear, easing up to speed again on the slick road. "We have no idea how long the guys running the chop shop have been using that mine for storage, but I'm going to bet it's been more than a week or two. So, they haven't had any trouble, or at least not enough trouble to keep them away. Maybe they saw something or heard something, so they concocted the stories about the mine being haunted to keep others away."

"Then along comes the actual owners, they want to start construction, but they find out about the car parts being stored there. How can they not see them and find out? End of mine owners. What about the others who died? I'm not sure that explains them all."

"No." Dean shook his head, "it doesn't. And it doesn't matter, this is a what came first, the chicken or the egg thing. We've got the spirits in the mine—our problem—and the car thieves slash murders—someone else's problem—both taking up the same space."

Sam shifted under the weight of Dean's jacket and the blankets. "We take care of our part and report the other part."

"Yep." Dean guided the big car off the road and into the woods.

"So, how do we take care of our part?" Sam was right back to square one.

"Let's check it out, see if we can find remains. If not, we gather what we need, do a cleansing and then set off some explosives and block the thing up."

Dean was more thinking out loud, Sam could tell by the pitch of his voice and how he just ran one thought into the next.

"You just want to blow stuff up," Sam grumbled, but let the corners of his mouth turn up as he slipped a look at Dean before ducking his head.

Dean snorted but offered no other response.

They'd stopped about a quarter mile from the mine. Sam reluctantly shed the extra jacket and blankets and eased out of the warm car into sharp, bone-chilling winds that seemed to cut straight through to his core. Pulling his coat tighter around him, he lifted his eyebrows when Dean took the two blankets, folded them and stuffed them under his arm.

"Humor me." Dean's voice was gruff, making Sam shut his mouth but not keeping the small smile from his face when Dean opened the trunk and along with weapons and a few other supplies, the blankets were stuffed into a pack.

They hiked the distance in silence, Dean trudging through the snow on the ground and Sam trailing along a step or two behind but never far enough away he couldn't feel his brother's solid presence. Even though it was a good hour past sunrise when they came to the mine's entrance the sky was a murky gray, overcast with dingy clouds.

Stopping a few paces from the mine entrance they both looked it up and down. Sam felt one shiver after another work uncontrollably down his spine and through his limbs. Flashes of rock and dirt raining down to cover him, force its way into his nose and mouth, worming through to his lungs made his steps falter when Dean sighed and started forward.

Almost at once, Dean stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Sammy?"

"Y-yeah…I'm…"

Dean turned completely and took firm hold of Sam's bicep. "C'mon, Sammy, let's get this done and get out of here."

"But ho-how are w-we…?"

"We're going to look around, find what we can and if we can't salt and burn, we go to plan B."

Sam swallowed thickly and nodded. "Let's just do this." He stepped forward, but not so far as to break his brother's hold on his arm.

They quietly moved beyond the car parts, flashlights out and waving in a to and fro pattern.

"You went this way." Dean pointed with his beam of light down the path Sam had run the day before.

Sam shrugged and muttered, "Good a place as any."

Dean nudged against Sam's side making him sidestep in one direction as they slowly made their way deeper into the mine. Sam got a good look at the mine's interior. Rock walls had wooden beams crisscrossing over them for added support. Every few yards there was a break in the old wood, sometimes bits of rotten, splintered wood dangled and dropped as they walked by. Every few feet Sam glanced back over his shoulder, expecting to see someone, but no one was there.

A rail track wound its way through the rooms. Like the wood along the walls, the iron tracks were no longer one continuous stretch, but broken here and there by rock that had fallen on it or from some long forgotten upheaval of the ground. They were more or less following it trying not to trip over bits that stuck up off the ground at odd angles with sharp, rusty edges. Small cracks and pops came from no particular direction, but Sam could identify them as rock or metal respectively. The sound and the realization he knew the origin caused the hair along the back of his neck to bristle and rise. He kept pace with Dean, every few steps he'd purposely bump his shoulder or hand against his brother's side even though Dean's fingers were still wound firmly around Sam's arm. Dean might not have had any nightmares of being buried under rock, but it was obvious to Sam he was as freaked by all of this as Sam.

They'd walked for maybe ten or fifteen minutes when Dean pointed to a pile of odds and ends obviously left over from two centuries previous, most of it what Sam took to be mining equipment.

"That's where you stopped. Well, that's when you heard me, were aware enough of me calling you, turned around and tripped over something. That's how I caught up to you."

Sam nodded, turning in a circle, which broke Dean's hold on his arm. "I recognize this spot. Not the route we took to get here though." He jerked around to look squarely at Dean. "I'm not as cold. Still cold, but not as much."

Dean quirked an eyebrow and swiveled on his heels, scanning the area. "Okay. Interesting. A start."

Backing up a few feet, Sam looked up and down then all around when a hard shiver worked through him. Crossing his arms over his chest and rubbing his hands up and down from shoulder to elbow in an effort to warm himself, he was hit with an idea. "I can use this cold thing as a sort of tracking."

"Greeeeat." Dean blew the word out on a breath. He took a step closer to Sam and waved one hand, pointing to a section of ground. "Dividing line is around here."

"So there must be something around here." Sam pointed to the ground between his feet. "Remains or something."

Dean opened his mouth, shutting it almost at once, gaze popping up to the ceiling. They both froze when dirt and pebbles tumbled down the walls on both sides.

"Dean we should—"

Reaching for Sam's arm Dean muttered, "Yeah, let's—"

The rest of his brother's words were drowned out, even though Dean's mouth moved before his eyes went wide and his lips formed an 'O'. He managed about two more steps toward Sam before the ground erupted, dirt and small stones literally exploding upward and swirling in a vortex around them. Another few seconds and more dirt and rock began raining down from the ceiling.

Lunging at Dean, Sam shouted for his brother. Rock piled between them, shoving them farther apart, forming a wall not only between them but around them as well. Wrapping one arm over his head, Sam choked and coughed from the dust kicked up and blown at him from all directions. No matter how he swiped at it, tried brushing it from his eyes and face it blasted him. Each small projectile bit into the exposed skin of his hands and face making small welts like miniature skid marks rise in ugly red webbing over his flesh.

His vision clouded over from the brown tornado churning around him. Turning one way, then the next, Sam's sense of up and down, left and right dimmed then failed him completely. He tried focusing on Dean's voice, sounding farther and farther away with each passing second. The more he struggled the more he was forced down. Driven to his knees Sam used one hand against the ground with locked elbow to support his upper body when coughing jags from the dirt sucked into his lungs from his mouth and nose caught hold and wouldn't let go.

It was his nightmares come to life. Dirt invaded every bit of him, filled his mouth and ears, blocking out exterior sound until the only thing he could hear was his rushing blood. Arm giving out, Sam dropped hard onto his chest, sucking in air and dirt, coughing and hacking with every attempted breath. His fingers scrabbled at the dirt piling up around him as he tried pulling himself to the spot he'd last seen Dean causing blood to ooze over his skin.

"Sam!" Dean's voice broke through the barrier of rock and dirt to filter through the fog and haze created by flying dirt and pebbles that surrounded him.

When he tried answering his tongue was covered by a fine film of dust. It was just enough to stop him from talking, choke off his words, but not completely block his airway.

Reaching one hand in the direction of Dean's voice and finding only hard stone and piles of dirt, Sam's forehead connected with the ground. He covered his head with his other arm, gagging and coughing, struggling for any air he could. It seemed he got just enough to stay alive, but not conscious. The world closed in, his vision grayed around the edges, tiny sparks climbed over the top of the gray, winking out almost as soon as they formed.

The gray turned to black, and Sam was plunged into its depths.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean fought against the maelstrom of dirt and small rocks, arm shielding his face as he bent into the onslaught trying to reach his brother. Every few seconds, the cloud of dirt surrounding Sam would break enough that Dean could see him twisting around and flinging his arms out in an effort to keep the swarming rocks away from him. They were encased in a vortex of earth, each being forced farther from the other.

"SAM! _SAMMY_!"

It appeared Sam heard him over the roar of flying earth, turning in the direction of Dean's cries. He took a staggering step toward Dean only to be shoved two steps away.

Larger, heavier rocks clunked and crashed over Dean's back, forcing him to hunch over in an effort to protect his head. Each volley turned from pebbles and smaller stones to larger, sharper rocks that battered at him until he dropped to his knees, back aching from the assault, throat raw from shouting to his panicked kid brother fighting the swirl of dirt blasting around him and separating him from Dean.

A sharp sting to the back of his head drove Dean completely to the ground. As darkness closed in from all sides he managed to flop onto his back and turn to see the spot where he'd last seen Sam.

Now there was nothing but a wall of rock where his brother once stood. As the crash and howl from the flying rocks faded into the background, the little bit of light filtering through the rocks winked out. Dean was alone and plunged into shadows.

Jerking and gasping air into his lungs, for a few minutes unsure if he was awake or not—Dean sucked in more harsh breaths and coughed when complete consciousness and reality came slamming back with a vengeance.

His head and neck ached and throbbed from the countless hits of rock and stone. Tiny rivulets of blood mingled with sweat coursed down his neck and across his hands making his skin tingle and vibrate.

Blinking, it took him a few seconds to realize his eyes were open, that it was simply too dark to see anything. Reaching out with hands that trembled, his arms extended about a foot above him before his fingertips skimmed cool stone. Rolling as far to one side as possible, then the other, Dean repeated the process. He was enclosed—trapped—in a prison barely larger than himself. One completely made of pebbles and dirt.

"Sa—" Coughing, Dean turned his head and rolled onto his shoulders as far as possible in the small space before wiping the back of one hand over his mouth. He spit dirt from his tongue and coughed again. Dust and dirt mingled with the blood and sweat of his hands and face.

Cold, raw tendrils wrapped around his groin then spiked through to his intestines, up to his stomach and clenched at his chest. They'd been buried alive.

He and Sam had been _buried alive_.

Flopping onto his back, Dean spent a few minutes trying not to hyperventilate and simply get his wits about him. He had nothing in his mental or emotional arsenal to deal with this. Demons, ghosts, scary nightmare monsters, those he'd learned how to cope with long ago and far away, but not this.

A sob rolled up from his chest and he shoved his fist into his mouth to stop it from becoming a full-blown scream.

Sam had spent the past twenty-four hours hallucinating and dreaming about being covered with tons of rock crashing down and now it'd happened.

_Sam_.

Christ, he had to get to the kid, know if he was still alive. Thinking of the terror his brother must be feeling ramped up Dean's up tenfold.

To his left, small nuggets trickled down one side of his prison, making dirt slide into his arm. Gingerly turning his head, Dean was sure he heard a stifled moan. Inching on his back until his left arm was pressed against the pile of rocks there Dean called out, "S-s-sam. Sam-Sammy?"

More rocks tumbling free and a soft whimper sounding vaguely like his name answered him. Shifting up as far as he could so he was propped on his side on one elbow, Dean dug at the rocks.

"D-dean." Sam finally answered, voice groggy and breathless. Another volley of stones tumbled free. "Wh-where…where are you?" He sounded as confused and disoriented as Dean felt.

"Can you see anything?"

The sound of Sam shifting around reached Dean's ears. "A little. There's some light from somewhere, but it's really dim. We—we're under…the rocks? Dean…?"

"Deep breaths, Sam. We're alive, so—"

"They're bones."

"What?"

"Dean, I…I'm surrounded by bones, they're in with the rocks."

He heard Sam shift and move again.

"I'm lying on…they're…Dean, they're…all around…"

Dean started clawing at the rock barrier between him and his brother. "Sammy, help me."

Almost at once he heard the slide of Sam's coat over rock as he moved. Dean blew out a short breath of relief, Sam's desire to get to Dean and freedom distracted him from the thought and fact he was likely sprawled on a bed of human remains. The idea made Dean shudder but didn't slow his digging until a small hole and part of Sam's face appeared.

"Dean!" Sam pushed the word out with a sharp gasp. Sam got a hand up and shoved his fingers into the small hole, pulling dirt toward him until it was bigger.

Shoving his own hand in above Sam's, Dean worked on the top of the small opening while Sam scraped away at the bottom part. A tiny amount of light filtered through from where his little brother was encased in a sarcophagus of stone, dirt and bone making Dean's stomach flip and his efforts double.

After a few minutes of Sam digging along the bottom and Dean prying away at the top there was enough space cleared he could see Sam's head as well as shoulders. At once Sam's arm reached through and he grabbed Dean's jacket in a death grip.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. You?" Sam coughed and his voice sounded a bit rough. He was shaking violently, but otherwise looked unharmed.

"C'mon." Dean reached through and got both hands under Sam's arms pulling him along as Sam twisted and kicked with this legs to shove his upper body through the hole until from the waist up they were both in the same half of the rock prisons. Dean wasn't sure which one of them had the worse shakes. He let go of Sam with one hand long enough to get his fingers cupped around the back of the kid's head and ran them down until he could squeeze Sam's neck, letting his hand just rest there.

Sam huffed out a short, jerky laugh. "I think we found what we needed to burn."

"The damn ghosts just couldn't point and say, bones here?"

"I think they did, Dean."

Dean snorted and pulled his brother a few inches closer. "Let's get outta here."

He and Sam stayed still a few minutes longer simply clinging to one another until both of them were breathing calmer.

Using the arm not wrapped around Sam, Dean began working at the stones above him. Sam pulled his knees up as close to his chest as possible in the confined space and kicked against the stones repeatedly. All at once the rock walls encasing them gave way, sliding out in all directions leaving the two of them lying in the middle of large piles of dirt and rock.

Sam sat up and shook dust from his hair then wiped one hand over his face before offering that hand to Dean, helping him sit up. "You're hurt."

"It's not so bad." Dean pulled his shirt away from his body and dabbed at his face with it, grimacing when it came away spotted with bits of blood. "You're cut up too."

"I am?" Sam sounded surprised. Holding his hands out in front of him he turned them then let them drop to his knees. Sighing heavily, Sam leaned to one side and grabbed one of the packs he'd dropped when all the dirt and stone had begun to fly. Pulling it to him, he rummaged around, producing some antiseptic wash and gauze pads. Dowsing a handful of the pads down with the antiseptic he reached out, mumbling, "Sit still."

Dean closed his eyes and sighed, willing to tolerate Sam dabbing and wiping at the small cuts and scrapes on his face simply because the boy seemed to need to be able to be sure the cuts were properly cared for. Sam repeated the same procedure on Dean's hands.

"Any painkillers in there?" Dean nodded to the pack. "I got hit pretty hard on my back."

"Let me see." Sam scooted closer, two fingers pulling the back of Dean's collar away from his neck before he could stop him. Twisting and ducking away, Dean swatted at Sam's hand. "There's nothing to see other than some bruises."

"Dean," Sam snapped.

Grabbing Sam's wrist, Dean gave a gentle tug and squeezed until Sam's gaze met his. "Just bruises. Nothing is bleeding, there's nothing to see. I promise."

Another warning of, "Dean."

"Sammy. Quit. Your turn, dude." Snatching the gauze and antiseptic from Sam, Dean washed the cuts and scratches matching his. Cranking his head side to side and rolling his shoulders a few times, he gratefully took the ibuprofen Sam produced and silently offered along with a bottle of water. He slugged a few gulps down before holding the bottle out to Sam with a stern look and quirked eyebrow. "You hurt anywhere else than that?"

Taking the bottle, Sam shook his head, smiled a bit and finished off the water. "No, same as you, just some small cuts. If your back gets worse—"

"You'll be the first to know." Dean packed their supplies away and pushed off the ground, brushing dirt from his clothes. He scanned the area around them, now quiet and thankfully free of flying debris. "How are you feeling?" He held one hand out to Sam.

"Cold."

When Sam pulled up on Dean's offered hand, he felt the fine tremors running through his kid brother.

"Well, at least we know where the bones are. Let's get this done and get the hell out of here before they decide to throw more stuff at us."

Nodding, Sam stepped over the mound of dirt and began picking up the bones from the rocks that once trapped him. After a few minutes of collecting the scattered remains of the long dead group of miners, he dropped an armload onto a pile Dean had started and stood staring down at them.

"Sam? You okay?"

Rubbing his hands up and down his arms then wrapping his arms around himself, Sam barely nodded. "I need to get out of here for a minute, need some air."

"Okay, hang on one second." Dean dropped more of the bones onto the pile and scooped his duffel off the ground, slinging it over his shoulder.

Sam had turned back to him, but otherwise wasn't moving. "You don't need to babysit me, Dean. I'll be fine."

"There is too much weird shit going on in here and way too much stuff for us to get buried under. We're sticking together on this one, at least in here."

The fact Sam simply stood quietly waiting for him was the biggest testament to what was going on inside his kid brother's head than any words could have ever been. Dean saw plainly that Sam was more than a little unsettled having this odd connection to the spirits. Their recent experience with how far those spirits would go with the clever use of dirt and rock made Dean's insides shiver.

Handing Sam one of the flashlights, he followed a step or two behind his brother as they made their way to the mine entrance. Cold bits of moisture trickled continuously down Dean's spine. He had that being watched feeling and when he looked back over his shoulder for the fourth time he shook his head and pushed two fingers gently against the spot between Sam's shoulder blades to move him along faster.

Taking Dean's hint and not questioning why, Sam's stride lengthened, only easing back when they could see the light from the mine entrance. Shuddering under his jacket, Sam pulled it closer and rubbed at his arms again. They stopped just inside the mine entrance, standing opposite each other and leaning against the edge of the frame.

Sam pulled a few deep breaths and let them out slowly, watching Dean, but not exactly looking right at him. He dropped his gaze to the ground for a few beats then looked out at the roadway leading up to the mine. The weather had gone from miserable to downright nasty. A sharp wind blew hard enough that even a few feet inside Sam's hair ruffled away from his neck and forehead and Dean's jeans were pressed back against his legs. The temperature had plummeted to somewhere around frigid and biting. Snow swirled in eddies, falling hard from the sky to be caught in the wind and twisted and flung in all directions.

Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, Dean considered digging his gloves out of the duffel but stilled when Sam sighed and turned a bit to stare out at the white haze shifting over the ground outside.

"They didn't die right away," Sam said softly. He pulled another shuddering breath in and let it out slowly, cheeks billowing out as he did so.

"Sam—"

Sam shook his head. "I have to…I can't keep this inside…it," he waved one hand near his face, "the dirt, it gets in your nose and ears, you swallow it, choke on it. The lucky ones were the ones killed when something hit them hard enough. The others, most of them, they drowned in the dirt, it filled their lungs, or poison gases, bad air. It hurt, excruciating…" his voice trailed off. "Then the fear…no, not fear, terror."

Pushing away from the wall, Dean stepped over to his brother and laid one hand on his shoulder. Sam flinched, Dean could tell right away he hadn't realized Dean had moved closer. Rubbing his hand up and down Sam's arm a few times, Dean spoke quietly. "You hang here, watch for our car thief buddies. I'll go back and take care of the remains."

Wheeling away from the wall, Sam grabbed Dean's jacket collar and shook him. "NO!"

"Sam." Startled, Dean instinctively backpedaled, bringing his other hand up and knocking Sam's grip away. "What the hell, Sammy?"

Stepping back, Sam ran one hand through his hair and looked around for a minute, breathing harder, obviously trying to calm down. "Sor-sorry…I…it's just…" He offered Dean a quick, thin smile and shook his head. "I don't know. I can feel all this shit in my head, from _them_." He pointed down to the interior of the mine.

Taking a few deep breaths, Dean tried his best to relax and failed. "Okay, that's new. I don't like this."

"Me either," Sam snapped then in the next second his shoulders slumped and the expression on his face faltered. "I'm sorry." He tugged at Dean's arm, "Please, Dean, just go with me on this."

Dean's hand found its way back to Sam's arm, giving a reassuring squeeze before letting his arm drop to his side. "It's okay, this place has us both jumpy. Let's get back in there and end this."

Sam nodded and stepped away from the entrance, closer to Dean before he stopped and straightened, eyebrows pulling together. Dean twisted silently on his heels, having heard the same thing Sam must have. Lifting one hand to his lips, he reached out, grabbed Sam's coat and stepped into the shadows near the entrance. They both leaned around and peered out.

"Shit," Sam exhaled softly.

"Great."

An SUV rolled to a stop a few feet from where they stood. Six men piled out, moving around the vehicle, opening the back and taking out tools. A second SUV pulled up as they watched, that one carrying four more. Dean recognized several of the men as those he'd played pool and poker with a few nights before. This was bad.

Sam snorted, echoing Dean's internal sentiment, "You want to take the pissed off spirits on the right, and I'll take the crazed car thieves on the left?"

"Seems we now get to do our job _and_ someone else's." His fingers tightened in Sam's jacket. Stepping away, he pulled Sam farther back with him. "Talk about a rock and a hard place. We've got two choices, take our chances with the ghosts or the guys with…" he squinted through the murkier light where they now stood, "really big ass guns."

Sam followed Dean's line of sight and groaned low in his throat. Along with tools, the men were unloading machine guns, sawed off shotguns and handguns. Their voices floated into the mine, reaching Dean's ears. Sam's eyebrows shot up when he too heard the words.

"Yeah…someone's been here…Take care of them. That guy in the bar the other night…nosing around…saw that old car a few times…You see someone inside?...I'm sure someone's in there…"

Dean pushed against Sam's arm at the same time Sam was yanking on Dean's. They looked at one another, each whispering at the same time, "Pissed off ghosts!"

Their choice seemed a unanimous one. They were both far better equipped to deal with spirits than these men. Dean had his pistol, but Sam had nothing except a hunting knife, and Dean would prefer neither Sam nor he get that close to these jerks. They'd left their duffels with supplies back near the pile of bones. Most importantly there was no way out of the mine without the group of well-armed men seeing them.

As the group approached the mine, large flashlights in hand along with their weapons they fanned out. Dean and Sam slipped farther into the mine, melting silently into the shadows of the tunnels.


	6. Chapter 6

TB—Chapter 6

Sam stopped a few feet from the semi-completed pile of bones, leaned against the wall and slid down rocking back on his heels. Dean gave him a look that was half concern and half question. "We have to finish this."

"Yeah." Dean started piling the scattered bones on top of the file they'd started not so long ago. "Problem is we won't be able to light this or any fire in here."

"We're gonna freeze." Sam tried pulling his jacket closer and wrapped his arms around himself.

"No…we're not." Reaching down, Dean tapped against Sam's shoulder, "Gimme a hand. You'll stay warmer moving around."

Nodding, Sam pushed to his feet. His blood felt like sludge, his muscles sore, stiff and slow to respond to the commands his brain sent. Simply following Dean's actions, he collected a pile of bones and set them with the others.

"Hey," This time Dean was poking his arm. "Did you hear me?"

Sam's mind scrambled to catch up, it seemed to be as sluggish as the rest of him. "Huh?"

"You with me?"

"Yeah, sorry. What did you ask me?"

"Do you feel anything? From them?" Dean waved one hand over the pile.

Straightening and turning so he faced Dean fully, Sam had to think about his question. Gulping down a thick swallow and nodding, Sam realized his body wasn't reacting to the cold as much as to what his head was picking up from the spirits of the miners. Great, now he was some sort of cosmic receiver.

"Well?" The annoyance creeping into Dean's voice told Sam all he needed to know about how trapped his brother was feeling.

"It's hard to breathe." Sam rubbed his chest then the back of his neck. "I feel like I've run two marathons and didn't cool down. All stiff and sore, like—"

"Like rigomortis ?"

Forcing down another swallow, Sam nodded wincing at how the muscles along the back of his neck pulled and his skin itched and stretched.

"We have to take stock of what weapons we have."

"Everything we have is going to make this place explode," Sam pointed out. He tried a few deep breaths to fill his lungs, but his ribs pulled and caught in his chest making pains shoot from sternum to spine. "Maybe we can wait them out? They don't have a way to light the mine and are using this for storage. If they leave, we can light the bones. That will make the gases in here ignite and probably close off most the entrance too." He hunched over far enough to rest one hand against a knee.

Stepping closer, Dean rubbed his back a few times. "Can you breathe okay?"

"Yeah, it hurts though and I feel like I really can't catch my breath, but I'm not dizzy or anything. I don't think it's real, more like phantom sensations."

"So, it's really all in your head?"

Looking up, Sam lifted one corner of his lip and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but what if what's in my head comes out, like the rocks?"

"I think if that was going to happen it would have by now. They, the men who died here, they're obviously trying to communicate." Dean tipped his head to one side and sighed. "Doing a piss poor job of it if you ask me, but they led us here and showed us where they were buried."

Sam shivered and sat down when waves of nausea rolled through him and the sharp tang of bile bit at the back of his throat. "They didn't want to die, Dean. They were afraid and they suffered, a lot."

"Then a hundred years later some guys come along and use their resting place to store car parts and other people start doing things to the mine, restoring it, and stir them up even more."

Sam's gaze skimmed the dim tunnel. "Do you suppose those rails are made of iron?"

"Probably…" Dean's voice trailed off, he quirked an eyebrow and met Sam's gaze steadily. Sidestepping fast, he grabbed one of the duffels they'd brought and extracted two hand picks. "Think these will work?"

"One way to find out." Sam stood slowly and ignored how Dean watched his legs shake for a few seconds. "We've got one thing we can use that those guys will never see coming."

Dean grinned. "Not to mention freak them the hell right out." Flipping one of the picks around, Dean held the handle out to Sam who grinned, nodded, and took the offered tool.

As quietly as they could, Dean began prying the iron rails up and handed them off to Sam. He was grateful Dean took the brunt of the most physical part of their project while he worked on laying two continuous lines from the bones out toward the mine entrance careful to keep them end to end and no wider than the pile of bones. As Sam moved farther away from the bones, he stepped over the rails so he stood outside his impromptu pathway. At once he felt his muscles loosen and his breathing come easier.

The going was painstakingly slow and after a few hours they were only a third of the way to their goal. Prying another section of rail away from the earth, Dean straightened and held it out.

"Dean," Sam whispered, jerking his chin toward the mine entrance.

Twisting to face Sam, "What—" Dean pressed his lips into a firm line when Sam raised one hand and touched a forefinger to his lips. Nodding tightly, he reached behind him and took his pistol from its spot tucked into his waistband. "I hear them." Dean's voice was so low if Sam hadn't been merely a few feet from him, he'd have never heard.

Separating, each pressed to the wall of the tunnel, inching back soundlessly. Voices of men obviously searching for Dean and Sam drew closer. Dean leaned away from the wall and motioned to Sam to move farther back. Glaring, Sam crossed his arms over his chest, tilted his head to one side and added a slight shake to make his thoughts clear. As if Sam would leave his brother to face a pack of angry thieves.

Shoulders slumping down slightly, Dean bit his bottom lip, face hardening. Sam couldn't help the small smile; it drove Dean nuts when he did stuff like this and every time seemed so utterly surprised by Sam's actions. Mouth moving in a silent grumble, Dean stepped carefully over the rails moving as quietly as any spirit until he was beside Sam poking his shoulder and scowling.

"No way am I going back there to hide while you take them on." Sam hissed in his brother's ear.

"I wasn't—" Dean growled.

Sam cut him off immediately, "Can it, yes you were."

Dean huffed but offered no other comment. He did, however, put one hand on Sam's arm and push him farther back along the tunnel, nodding to a side tunnel, "Let's try in there."

Sliding along the tunnel wall, Sam made his way to the side tunnel, glancing back every few steps to be sure Dean was right behind him. They ducked into the section of tunnel that was even darker than the one they'd just left and crouched low to the ground.

The voices stopped mere yards from where they were hiding. "You see anything?" one man asked. Sam heard the rustle of clothing and an accompanying grunt. In the next instant he heard their footfalls withdraw and fade away heading outside.

Letting out a breath and dropping his head back against the tunnel wall, Sam eased up, slowly straightening his legs. He reached down and rubbed his thighs and knees a few times grumbling, "Getting stiffer again."

"We gotta get you out of here, even if I have to kill everyone of them."

Sam sighed, "Dean, I had that nightmare about the collapse in our motel."

"Yeah…well…" Dean gave him a look that mirrored Sam's own frustration.

Small pebbles and bits of dirt trickled down the tunnel wall making them start and turn to look at it. Dean's fingers winding around Sam's arm jerked his attention to his brother. Dean was backing up slowly, taking Sam with him and this time Sam wasn't arguing. He had no desire to be left alone in the pitch black of the mine with his body reenacting how men died a hundred years prior to Sam even being born. Even if he wasn't channeling these men, Sam would have very willingly followed Dean's lead. He didn't like it in here.

As they rounded the corner to the main tunnel to continue their task of moving the rails, Dean's sudden shove against Sam's chest surprised him and sent him bouncing into the stone wall. A whoosh of air left his lungs too fast and sparks danced around the periphery of his vision which picked that moment to decide now was a good time to start graying in and out.

Dean's snarl of, "Sonofa—" was cut off by a pained yelp and the distinct sound of skin hitting skin. What sort of life did Sam have that he could identify that sound as Dean's fist hitting someone else's face?

Lurching forward into the fray, Sam got a glimpse of two men throwing fists at his brother, two of the bastards and they still couldn't take down Sam's big brother. A swell of pride and adrenaline got his sluggish limbs moving, but not with nearly the force he normally had. Putting his weight behind his hit to make up for the fact that no part of his body wanted to work properly, Sam brought one fist up from near his hip and slammed it into one man's torso, hitting the soft part just under the ribs and drove up.

More lights twinkled on and off. Sam realized they weren't for his eyes only, since their appearance drew the attention of Dean and the two men attacking them. The distraction gave Dean the time he needed to completely take one man out, knocking him cold. The man Sam attacked staggered, but didn't fall. Recovering a bit too quickly he was coming at Sam far faster than Sam's muddied brain and sluggish legs could get him moving to defend himself.

Raising the pick he still held in one hand, Sam intended to drive it into whatever part of the guy he could. Strong fingers wrapped around his wrist, a knee bashed into his inner thigh at the same time, then with a sharp yank Sam's arm was wrenched sideways and twisted, the pick torn from his grasp. The man shoved him into the tunnel wall hard enough that for a second time the breath was knocked from his chest.

The scuffle of boots against the damp ground, the sounds of Dean and the man grappling steeled Sam's resolve. He shoved away from the wall and stumbled more than ran at the two men. His vision cleared completely in time for him to see the pick come down, aimed right for Dean's skull.

Sam's cry of, "NO!" made the man jerk sideways, again giving Dean the upper hand. He dodged the impending blow while at the same time smashed his fist repeatedly into the man's face, taking him down. The pick missed splitting Dean's skull, but it didn't miss his arm, slicing through from shoulder to elbow, shredding muscle and skin.

Releasing the man, Dean clutched his arm, shouting through clenched teeth, he dropped to his knees. Sam skirted the fallen man, slid down beside his brother and had his hand pressed to Dean's bleeding arm in seconds. The wound wasn't deep, but it was long and had to be painful. Dean wouldn't lose his arm or bleed to death, but it could still get infected. Sam's mind raced through what he had to do, get to their duffels, get the wound cleaned, the bleeding stopped. His world narrowed down to his brother, it seemed the only thing he could focus on at that moment.

"Sam, move it…c'mon, S'mmy." Despite his slight slurring, Dean had a death grip on Sam's arms and was shoving him back, trying to get in front of Sam and move him away all at once which resulted in them both landing hard on their butts.

Sam looked up from Dean's bloodied jacket. "We've got—" He literally felt the blood drain from his face when he finally looked beyond his brother.

The entire tunnel was filled with small lights winking on and off. The air between the rails shuddered and the entire scene shifted between what it was now and what Sam imagined it looked like when the mine was in operation. Sam pressed one hand against Dean's wounded arm, the other rested against his back, as he fisted that hand as tightly as possible in Dean's jacket and tugged his brother backward.

One of the men lay completely inside the rails, the other lay across the narrow passage, with his head against one rail and his legs sprawled over the opposite one. Images of men, miners, flickered around the unconscious men, coming into focus and sliding away the next second only to reappear closer a heartbeat later.

"Christ, Sam, _move_." Dean twisted around so his free hand grabbed at Sam's elbow and kicked with his feet, inching the two of them away from the men and ghosts.

Dirt and small rocks took flight inside the rails, spinning around the men. They came to as clothes and skin started shredding off them, their screams muffled by the wind created in the swirl of dust and debris. Blood and skin combined with the dirt, creating a rusty cloud that billowed out as far as the barrier of the rails allowed then sucked in on itself.

Winding one arm around Dean's waist, Sam hauled the two of them to their feet, staring over Dean's shoulder at the hideous sight of mangled flesh and bones being stripped bare. His stomach lurched, cold speared through his chest straight down to his gut. Arms and legs felt as if they'd been frozen and would crack with any move he made.

Seconds later everything went deathly quiet. The small lights fluttered out of existence, the dirt settled inside the rails and the only thing that remained of their attackers were two sets of perfectly cleaned skeletons.

Sam felt how his brother shook as Dean backed away even farther, pressing Sam securely between himself and the tunnel wall. "Time to go," Sam said, pulling Dean farther down the tunnel. Despite the urgency that rocketed through him, Sam's limbs were uncooperative once again forcing him to let Dean take more of his weight than he could himself. Stumbling and bouncing off the wall a few times, they didn't stop until they reached the spot where they'd been piling the bones of a dozen or more men. Glancing back at the way they'd come, Sam dropped his gaze to the ground.

Easing away from Sam's grip, Dean leaned against one wall and slid to the ground. He looked down the tunnel and seemed to read Sam's mind. "We'll go back and collect them in a bit. I have to rest first."

Moving away from Dean only long enough to retrieve their duffels, Sam dug out gauze, antiseptic, cotton, pain pills and water. Scooting back, he settled beside Dean and started pulling the jacket away. Dean's hand brushed his, forcing Sam away. "It's okay. We don't have the time to waste on this."

"Shut up, Dean. Just let me, please…I need…" He couldn't finish the sentence, but a quick glance up at Dean's face and how the understanding filtered into his eyes told him Dean understood plenty. Feigning annoyance, Dean pressed his lips into a tight line, leaned his head back against the wall and let his eyelids drop shut. In spite of his fear Sam smiled at his brother's never-ending antics and the front he seemed to want to put up, the front Sam was always able to see past.

With shaking hands, Sam eased away Dean's clothes, cleaned the jagged wound and put in a few stitches, wrapping his arm when he finished.

"Gonna have a good scar from that one," Dean said without opening his eyes.

"Yeah." Sam croaked out. "I think we'll be okay here for a bit."

Dean rolled his head to face Sam, opening his eyes, "Are you guessing, or is it something else?"

"Something else."

Sighing, Dean shifted around, and pulled the blankets they'd left laying on the ground around him. Dipping his head to his good side he sighed. "Let's get some rest, sort out what to do when we can think more clearly."

Sam moved around and sat beside his brother, back leaning against the tunnel wall, shoulder pressing into Dean's. "Take." He held out the pills and water.

Dean took the water, but not the pills mumbling, "pain will keep me awake."

"The pain will make you slow," Sam snapped.

Huffing, Dean tossed the blanket around Sam too. "Fine." He downed the pills and half the water bottle, handing it back to Sam. "Drink."

Grinning, Sam did as his brother asked tossing the empty bottle at the duffel when he was done. "Keep up your bitching and I'll buy the pink Band-Aids with sunflowers on them next time."

Dean huffed some annoyed sound.

Warmth from Dean's body seeped into Sam, making his muscles loosen and his eyelids get heavy. For the first time in a few days he wasn't freezing from the inside out, and he wasn't afraid of what he'd see in his sleep.

When next he pried his eyes open, he immediately brought one hand out from under the blanket to rub the crust and goo out to make prying his eyelashes apart easier. He was cocooned in the blanket, Dean's jacket under his head for a pillow. Pushing up on one arm Sam looked around, turning to the sound of footsteps and something he knew all too well were human bones being dropped.

Dean was letting go of one end of the other blanket as a jumble of bones tumbled free, landing in their own pile beside the one of the miners' bones they'd started earlier.

"Why'd you go by yourself?" Sam sat up, angry and not even trying to hide that fact.

Rolling his eyes and giving Sam a long-suffering look, Dean sighed. "Sam, it's twenty feet away. If I'd yelled and needed you, you'd have been there in a second."

There wasn't much Sam could say to refute that statement, so he resorted to glaring.

Dean sat facing Sam. "Game's been changed. I couldn't go past the end of the rails, when I tried dirt started flying up in front of me. I saw a few of them for a second."

Sam scrunched his eyebrows together. "What? Why? That's—"

"They," Dean waved at the larger pile of bones, "I think they want to get revenge on those men who disturbed them."

"And they think we're going to do that for them?!" The horror of what Dean just said sunk in, firing up Sam's insides. "We're not murderers."

Dean shook his head. "No, I think we're the bait."


	7. Chapter 7

Dean picked up the duffels, gathering their supplies and replacing everything other than the blankets. Pulling out salt and accelerant, he thoroughly dowsed both piles of bones all the while acutely aware of Sam's eyes following him.

"What are you doing?"

"What's it look like, Sammy?" Dean straightened and turned to face his brother. "How are you feeling? Can you breathe okay?"

Sam nodded and pushed to a sitting position and tugging the blanket more tightly around his shoulders.

"Here's what I figured we do," Dean drew in a deep breath; he simply wasn't letting Sam talk him out of this. "We finish this. Get it as far as the main room, that's probably all it'll take. We light this fuse and run like hell."

"Dean, those men out there, they'll die. We can't kill them."

"We aren't going to, Sam." Dean whipped the empty can of salt at the tunnel wall, shouting, "It's them or us. You're not dying here, neither am I! They didn't think twice about killing the people they did, or about killing us. We finish moving the rails, we light this up, and whatever happens happens."

Sam looked around the tunnel avoiding Dean's gaze. He picked at the edges of the blanket a few times; Dean's heart wanted to crack at how lost and young his brother seemed at that moment.

"We didn't cause this, Sam; none of it is our fault."

Those words finally brought Sam's attention back to him. Nodding tightly, Sam swallowed and sat straighter. "There isn't another way."

"You got one, I'm listening."

Sam shook his head. "No, I don't. We've got to get out of here before we freeze." He stood, rubbing his legs. It was obvious to Dean he was still stiff and affected by the spirits. He waved a hand at Dean's arm. "Let me see."

Dean waited quietly while the bandage was rewrapped around his arm, even though it didn't need it. If Dean's injury got Sam over his worries about the fate of the men keeping them trapped in the mine, then Dean was damn well going with it.

An hour later they were half the way to the mine entrance. Sounds from the main room in the front occasionally reached as far back as they were, the clanging of tools, men swearing, and weapons being prepared.

"They know we're here, but not where exactly." Dean stood and stretched. He dug a bottle of water from one of his duffels, took a long pull and handed it off to Sam. "Good thing it's a big mine."

Without warning, Sam flung the length of rail he held against the wall, growling as he watched it sail through the air.

"Sam?"

"I'm not doing this. I _can't_ do this." Sam ground out, taking a few steps toward Dean. "I'm not going to help them kill those men."

Holding one hand up and in front of him, Dean warned, "Sam, don't—"

Sam glared at him. A second later his expression turned from anger to confusion to alarm. He'd stepped over the iron rails and into the path they were creating. Dirt and small rocks rose in multiple vortexes all around him. As he shuffled backwards to where the rails opened into the larger tunnel, a wall of dirt blew up from the ground, creating a screen from floor to ceiling.

Sam's startled yelp when the wave of dirt slammed into him mingled with the sounds of falling rock and screaming men. Lights winked on and off all around them flitting and coalescing with one another, swarming around Sam and forcing him farther into the wall of dirt. Hands up and waving the dirt away while at the same time trying to shield his face Sam stumbled then turned and lurched directly into the center of the dirt curtain.

"Crap. Sammy!" Dean sprinted from his side of the tunnel to where Sam stood trying to swat off a flying wave of dirt in the center of the rails. Barreling into his brother, he grabbed Sam around the shoulders and threw all his weight against him. They hit the ground and slid a few feet down the path, but not clear of the rails.

Struggling for footing, Sam managed to get one arm under his chest and push up, lifting the upper halves of their bodies off the ground. At first they went nowhere, held in place by the force of dirt circling around them. Dean thought they'd be buried once again. Using the boost Sam gave him, Dean hauled his knees under his hips, toe end of his boots scraping along the dirt he finally rocked back enough he could lever both he and Sam to their feet.

Bent against the onslaught of dirt and the artificial wind created by the spirits, Dean grit his teeth against the thousands of points along his face and arms stung by tiny particles of dirt. Dean yanked on Sam's arm and they stumbled to one side and over the rail.

Holding tightly to Sam's arms, Dean watched as the dirt storm lowered and quieted by fractions of an inch at a time. The roar from the air around them being filled with debris quieted. His brother relaxed by small degrees.

Standing straighter, but not pulling away from Dean, Sam wiped his mouth with the the back of one hand and turned it so Dean could see the small flecks of blood. He panted and gulped in air, wheezing out the words, "Okay, point taken."

Using his shirt sleeve to wipe his own face, Dean took a few seconds to consider the red flecked sweat dampening his sleeve. Shaking his head, he patted Sam's chest a few times before nodding and gathering their duffels. "We do one side, finish it, and then move to the next. Stick together."

Sam nodded. Dean pretended not to notice as Sam's breath caught and hitched on every inhale, how he seemed to have to concentrate on breathing. They worked their way down one side, Sam prying up the rails and Dean relaying them. When they reached their stopping point, just far enough from the main room that they wouldn't be seen they trudged back and switched jobs. The second line of rail, Dean pried from the ground and handed them off to Sam to position end to end.

Twisting his torso side to side, Dean smiled when his back cracked, "Better."

"Watch where you step."

Dean faced Sam completely and quirked an eyebrow. "You're kidding, right? I'm not the one who danced around inside that the last time and nearly got our skin separated from our skeletons."

"Whatever," Sam huffed, looked down the tunnel then back at Dean. "Nothing is happening, how long do you think it'll take?"

"How should I know? I'm not the guy with the direct link to them. You tell me."

Sam looked around the tunnel for a few seconds before spreading his arms wide and shrugging. "Nothing."

"Well, that's sort of…anticlimactic." Dean leaned over and peered down the tunnel.

"Uh-huh." Sam picked up a stone and tossed it down the center of the rails. He twisted around to face Dean and scratched at the back of his head.

"Is anyone out there?" Dean leaned over and squinted into the murky light.

Sam stepped up beside him and stood, hands on hips, looking too. "I can't tell. Maybe the spirits know and that's why nothing is happening?"

Dean nodded. "Could be. They must not know about those other guys, no one has come looking."

"Or they looked in the wrong tunnels."

"Either way, I bet it's only a matter of time before one of them goes looking for their missing buddies." Dean started back down the tunnel. "Let's get our stuff, stash it up here somewhere, and see if we have something to use as a fuse to light up those bones."

Sam nodded and for once didn't argue, which made Dean happy. They gathered their duffels and made sure there was enough accelerant over the skeletons they'd ignite quickly. Dean crouched on the ground and searched through one of the packs he'd brought along. After a few minutes, he held a coiled length of fuse up like a trophy fish.

"I don't even want to know why you have that much fuse in a bag." Sam paused for a few minutes, rubbing at his chest. "You said you thought we were bait."

"They're keeping us in here, Sammy. Those men out there, they know we're here and they have to have figured out by now two of their buddies have gone missing. They've got us trapped in here, and it's only a matter of time before those guys see us." Dean sidestepped down the rails, bent down as he fed the fuse hand over hand onto the ground.

Sam nodded; breathing harder, he rubbed his fingertips over his sternum then ribs. "It's getting harder for me to breathe. Maybe something is going to happen."

"That a guess?"

"No."

Stepping quickly over the rails, Dean took Sam's arm and turned him, urging him down the tunnel toward the main part of the mine. "C'mon, we need to try to get as close as we can to a more open area."

They shouldered their packs and began jogging toward the mine entrance. Wheezing and bending at his middle as he went, Sam was obviously having a hard time keeping pace with Dean. They were maybe ten yards from the end of the tunnel when they saw the distinct back and forth swing of heavy duty flashlights.

Five shadows resolved into men, some carrying the flashlights, all carrying some sort of gun.

"Dean, we have to stop them." Sam tripped ahead, trying to wave the men coming at them back, "Get out! Go back!"

Dean picked up speed, catching up to his brother in a few strides and shouldered him away from the rails and to the edge of the tunnel.

"There!" One of the approaching men shouted pointing at them.

Hands in the air, Dean yelled, "Get out; you've got to get out now!" Sam dropped to his knees, hand pressed to his chest, sucking air in through his mouth.

The roar of falling rock filled his ears and drowned out whatever the men were saying. He saw their mouths move but couldn't hear any sounds. Small lights flickered on and off. At first they were nothing more than tiny sparks lasting no more than a fraction of a second. In less than a minute the lights grew to the size of golf balls and multiplied in number covering nearly the entire walls on both sides of the tunnel.

Sam looked up, whispering, "Crap." He reached up, grasping Dean's arm with one hand. "We gotta go."

"Yep." Dean agreed. Leaning down far enough to wrap the fingers of one hand under Sam's shoulders, he hauled his brother to his feet and steadied him when he wobbled slightly. He reached out with his other hand, flipped open his lighter and lit the fuse.

Backs to the wall, hands held up, they didn't offer any resistance to the armed men surrounding them. "What the hell is going on?" one snapped.

"Dude, you wouldn't believe me if I told you." Dean took a step sideways, shoving Sam along toward the entrance.

"Stop," the man shouted then turned back to one of the others grabbing the man's arm. "What the—"

"We tried to tell you," Sam muttered as rock and dust flew up from the floor and rained down from the ceiling. Dean didn't need to really urge him much and they were making their way along the tunnel, making sure to keep outside the rails.

Keeping one hand on Sam's back and an eye on his breathing, Dean rushed toward the mine entrance as quickly as possible. When the soft whoosh from what Dean immediately identified as sparks traveling the fuse reaching its destination, he shoved his brother forward and yelled, "Go, Sam, go!"

A low rumble rolled through the tunnel. The dirt and debris flying around the car thieves covered them completely, blocking them from sight. They heard the men shout and scream. A few shots from their weapons clanged around the tunnel, but both brothers knew, there was nothing they could do until the bones were burned.

Without warning Sam yanked away from Dean's grip and broke into a full run. Dean took the hint and raced up the tunnel behind him. Dean felt the heat behind him. They didn't stop until they were clear of the mine, turning to watch as a thick, black cloud belched from the opening. They waited, listening for any sounds of life.

The entrance of the tunnel was filled with a thick cloud of dust making it was impossible to see inside for several minutes. The clatter of rock and stone raining down and bouncing off the ground was all they heard.

"Do you think any of them are alive?" Sam asked softly.

Dean shook his head. "I doubt it."

As the dust cleared they inched closer, trying to see into the dark mine. Where car parts had been strewn about now there was nothing but rock piled across the floor. It spilled out from the tunnel that was filled floor to ceiling with dirt and debris.

"C'mon, let's get out of here and somewhere warm." Dean started walking to their car.

"There are still three more."

"Think we can hope they'll simply run for it?"

Sam shrugged in response. They walked in silence to the Impala and Dean wasn't too proud to admit he was happy to see she was unharmed and unbothered. Quietly they piled their duffels in the trunk then themselves into the car.

Dean sat quietly for a few minutes before starting the car. Looking sideways at Sam he sighed heavily. "There wasn't anything we could do. We tried."

Sam nodded, staring at the glove compartment door. "Yeah, I know. Still sucks."

"It does." Dean guided the car onto the road happy they could get back to the motel, a hot shower, and warm food. When a horn blared and the sound of engines closed in from behind them, he took a good look in the rearview mirror. "Aw, crap."

Sam twisted in his seat. "Shit, Dean, punch it…there've got guns."

Not even bothering to swear, Dean stomped on the gas, leaned forward, and gripped the wheel. He let up on the gas only long enough to take the turn coming up, heading for the only place he knew close by that would offer them cover and a fighting chance. The car fishtailed through the turn, Sam slid across the seat, grabbing onto the door handle with one hand and the dash with the other.

"Hang on, Sam."

"No shit!" Sam let go long enough to point out the ghost town. "There it is."

"I see it." Again Dean straightened the car as it fishtailed. "We need somewhere to—"

"Livery."

Nodding, Dean gunned the engine and sped toward the building, hoping he and Sam could take shelter inside and defend themselves at the same time.


	8. Chapter 8

The livery doors banged open but stayed on their hinges when the car crashed through. Why the hell Dean couldn't have waited the one minute it would have taken Sam to get out and open those doors was beyond Sam. It was the vehicular version of kicking them open he supposed.

Skating across the dirt flooring, the Impala slid to a stop in the center of the large building. As soon as Dean hit the brakes, Sam flung open his door and was out, running for the livery doors to close them. The blowing blankets of white and frigid winds were shut out, drenching them in eerie quiet when Dean cut the car engine.

Sam was more than a little relieved to see the doors were intact and sporting heavy latches and brackets to push four by fours through as extra locks. Wondering why a livery would need such a locking system, Sam dropped the latches into place and shoved the four by fours through their brackets. He decided he didn't need to know why, and to simply be happy they were there to use.

"You get it secured up there," Dean was looking up at a second level, "I'll fix us up down here." He dug a shotgun and two more handguns from the trunk, passing one of the handguns off to Sam as he sprinted by.

The space was large, open and drafty. Ladders were built along the walls, tucked between two stalls, on either side of the building. Sam shoved the gun into his waistband and jumped onto the closest one, climbing as fast as possible. The second his feet were planted firmly on the upper level flooring his handgun was out and ready.

One entire long side of the building was storage. Sam saw remains of hay and straw bales. Some smaller equipment was scattered about. At the far end was a door nearly as wide as the end of the building. Sprinting to it he unlatched it and looked out. At once his hair was caught and whipped around in the winds, ice and snow stuck to his eyelashes and bangs.

A ladder went from the door to the ground; hanging onto the edge of the door way tightly, Sam swung one leg out and kicked at it, pummeling it with his foot until it dropped away from the building. Re-closing the door he latched it securely and turned to scout the rest of the loft. There were smaller windows spaced every few feet, but unless their pursuers had some small children with them, Sam highly doubted anyone could use those to gain access to the building.

He heard the heavy clump of Dean's boots moving up the ladder. "Everything is locked tight and secure. Whatcha find up here?"

"Take a look." Sam motioned to one of the small windows.

"Huh, interesting." Dean stood and looked around the area. "They're pretty evenly spaced."

"Yeah, like they're for security of some kind."

Leaning down, Dean looked through one of the tiny openings. "You can see a good bit of the town from up here. Makes you wonder what they kept in their livery, doesn't it?"

"Sure does," Sam chuckled and knelt at the next window over from Dean's and peered out. "Here come our friends. Think they saw where we went?"

"No." Dean shook his head. "They're driving too slowly; like they're looking for us. If they knew where we were I think they'd be in here with us by now."

"Hmm," Sam sighed. "Good point. This is a really good vantage point. Maybe we can do something to cripple them, or their truck?"

"How about we just take them out?" Dean straightened and looked at Sam. "They'll kill us if they get the chance, don't give me any of your _we can't hurt them crap_."

Sam stepped over Dean's legs and hunkered down in front of another of the windows. "I'm not. They're not leaving us much choice. I can draw them out, bait them and you can shoot them from up here."

"Sam, no way you're going down there to be bait. I'll do that, you stay here. Besides, I'm faster."

"You're also the better shot." Sam sat back and steadily met Dean's gaze.

"No, I'm—"

"Yes, Dean, you are."

Dean huffed, clearly annoyed. He returned to staring out the small window. "You know, we have another weapon they don't." His head swiveled around so he could look at Sam, tapping his arm lightly. "Ghosts."

"What? Dean, that's nuts, we destroyed the bones, burned them when the mine went up. There are no ghosts, at least not those ghosts."

"And what do you suppose the odds are those guys out there know that? They know about the spirits, saw them, or the things they did. Hell, they even used the spirits to keep other people away. But, I'm betting they have no idea how a ghost operates."

"Okaaay. How? One of us still has to go outside."

"Let's scout around in here and see if there is anything we can use." Dean tapped one finger on Sam's shoulder as he stood up and headed back to the ladder.

Sam stayed in the loft, scouring it thoroughly. He found rolls of wire thin enough that when he held it up to the light and turned it at the right angle it was nearly invisible. There were hooks with wooden handles on them Sam figured were for snagging the hay or straw bales. Gathering the wire and hooks, he held them in the crook of his arm as he climbed down to the lower level and Dean. "I found this stuff. Don't know if we can use them or not."

Dean was at the back of the car, trunk door open. He stood and eyed Sam's finds, nodding. "Think it's windy enough out there to interfere with a crossbow?"

"I don't think so." Sam shrugged. "I really don't know though, why?" Stepping closer, Sam looked into the trunk. "What's all this?"

A crossbow and some strips of cloth were lying on top of everything else. Next to them was one of their flare guns and extra flares. Dean also had a folded up, lightweight blanket, the kind made from reflective material.

Grinning, Dean took the hooks and wire from Sam, adding them to his existing pile in the trunk. "I think we can make ourselves some 'ghosts' and set these guys up. There are only three of them left. Those are pretty decent odds."

Sam nodded. The sound of an engine drew their attention to the front of the livery. They sprinted to the main door. On either side were small windows just like the ones in the loft. These had solid wooden shutters that slid side to side. Sam eased one to the side far enough to see the street. Dean watched from the window on the other side of the door. A truck drove slowly down the street. Inside were clearly two men, a third was in the truck bed, hunched down far enough he was mostly protected by the truck sides while still able to look around.

The brothers stayed frozen in place until the truck drove by even though they where fairly sure they couldn't be seen. When the truck reached the end of the street and swung to the left, Sam let out a long, low breath.

Dean stood still for a few seconds more before stepping back and looking down at his feet. "We've probably got a few minutes at least. Across the street," Dean waved Sam over to his side of the door. Sam side-stepped until he was beside his brother, shoulders pressed together as they both leaned down to look out the small window. Dean pointed to a building opposite them and down a few farther on the right. "See, there?" He paused, gaze shifting to Sam, obviously waiting for a response.

"Yeah."

"It's the store I was in when we came here the first time. Mostly old, moldy canned goods, but there are some coats, maybe a few other things we can use. We use this wire, and rig them up outside. If we cover them with some of this space blanket stuff and fill the pockets with rags soaked in gas or kerosene…"

Sam grinned then laughed. "Shoot it with the flares, and it'll light up and look like a pretty spectacular spirit."

"Right out of Hollywood." Dean clapped Sam's shoulder before heading back to the car. "One of us has to go over there, string the wire and get the coats." He pulled out a rifle and held it out to Sam. "You keep watch."

Stuffing both hands in his pockets, Sam shook his head. "No. I've got a better chance with you covering me. Besides, you're hurt. If you drip blood, you'll leave a trail. They'll be expecting you, they'll recognize you, maybe not me."

Dean nodded. Sam could see by the look on his brother's face, Dean didn't like it one bit, but he did see the truth and logic in Sam's words. "You're not back here in fifteen minutes and I'm coming after you."

"I'd hope so." Pulling his jacket closer, Sam took one of the spools of wire and went back to the door, Dean on his heels. After a nod from his brother that all was clear, Sam ducked out, closing the door softly behind him. He didn't have to look, or be able to see Dean at one of the windows in the upper loft, rifle trained on Sam the entire time.

He flattened himself to the outer livery wall for a few seconds, carefully looking up and down the street. He tied one end of wire to the livery and unraveled it behind him while sprinting across and into the building Dean had pointed out. He wound the wire around the door hinge and tucked it behind a wooden box. Easing through the door, Sam made sure it was shut before he started moving up and down the isles. As Dean said, there were mostly rows of rusted cans, stacks of moth eaten material and other various odds and ends useful more decades ago than Sam cared to think about.

Hanging at the end of one row of shelves were some coats. One large one was on the floor. Sam leaned over, fingers winding in the material, he straightened. Mice dropped out and scurried in all directions. Grinning, Sam dropped the coat, letting it flutter back to the ground. "Okay, you guys keep that one, I'll try these."

Two of the smaller coats hanging up, though peppered with holes were free of wildlife. Slinging them over his arm, Sam headed back to the door, stopping mid-step when he heard the distinctive sound of a door banging. Ducking back into the shadows, Sam listened, sure he heard footsteps. A floorboard squeaked and the footsteps faltered.

Holding his breath, Sam tipped his head toward the squeak. Taking a second for a fast check behind him, Sam slipped farther back into the store and around the line of shelves until he was near the front end. Leaning around, Sam took a look, swearing softly under his breath. He'd gotten close enough to the store front that he could see out the window lining the front.

No truck. No other people in sight.

Sam could do two things, he could run for it and know that Dean would shoot anyone following him or he could take the guy out, tie him up and leave him. Either way he had to get out, get the wire spool and get back to the livery without this man alerting the other two.

A gunshot would draw attention.

A tied man could get loose.

It was likely, however, that a tied man wouldn't get loose before he and Dean were safely away from the ghost town, the real town and the entire flipping state. Moving silently, Sam set the coats next to the door and followed the path the man was taking through the store, careful to avoid loose floorboards. Scanning the rows of shelves—there had to be rope here somewhere, it was a mining town after all—Sam's gaze finally fell on coils of yarn.

That would work.

Sam stuffed some skeins into his jacket. Picking one of the cans off the closest shelf, Sam stood on tiptoe and tossed it over the shelves. He heard the thunk, followed by the sound of someone running. Darting along the shelves so he'd intercept, Sam rounded the end and swung. His fist connected solidly with the man's face. A second blow had the guy down and out, hitting the floor with a meaty thud, before he had a chance to recover and use his handgun on Sam.

Rolling the man over, Sam pressed one foot heavily against his neck while he used the yarn to wrap the man's wrists, tying his hands behind his back. Sam repeated the process with the man's legs, binding his legs together. He grabbed the guy by the collar and dragged him to the back of the store and out of sight. He stuffed some material into his mouth before sprinting toward the door. Gathering the coats he'd left, Sam ducked outside.

Once on the sidewalk, he retrieved the spool of wire. Checking up and down the street, making sure there was no one else, Sam sprinted across the street, letting the wire unwind behind him.

When he reached the livery door, it opened and Dean was outside, taking the coats and spool from Sam's hands, ushering him inside in the next instant. Sam turned and watched as Dean tied off the wire and cut it, tossing the spool inside the livery before closing and relocking the door.

"See anyone?"

Leaning over, bracing his hands on his knees and catching his breath, Sam nodded. "One man. He's tied up in the back. We should be long gone before he's found or gets loose."

Dean snorted. "I would have run out so you could shoot the bastard."

Sam grinned and shrugged. "The thought crossed my mind." He reached out and pulled Dean's clothes away from his shoulder.

"It's fine. Quit." Dean slapped Sam's hand away.

"Yeah, well I want to see that for myself if I'm going to be running around out there with you in here covering my six. You can't shoot at anything if you pass out from blood loss."

Dean squinted at him but relented and let Sam check the dressing on Dean's wound. "Cover your six?" Dean asked shaking his head. "This is what happens when you watch that _Stargate_ show."

"What, you liked it too." Sam took one of the coats. "We need to get out of here."

Nodding, Dean went back to the car, Sam right behind him. Handing Sam a knife and one of the space blankets, he grinned. "Cut this into strips and cover as much of the coat as you can. We'll use these hooks you found to run them along the wire. When our friends are watching," Dean used his hand to mimic a gun, "And POW! Light them up with the flares. They'll make spectacular ghosts."

Sam smiled, "Dude, that's brilliant. They'll be freaked as hell."

"I hope."

They worked as quickly as possible, knowing eventually the two remaining men would either find the one Sam tied up or simply start searching building to building. It was likely that's exactly what that man had been doing when Sam ran into him, and exactly what the others were doing now.

Finally completed, Sam held the covered coats up for inspection. He grinned then laughed. Dean ducked his head and wiped one hand over his nose, chuckling.

"You know, Sammy, this might be one of the silliest things we've ever done."

Sam shrugged. "Who cares, as long as it works." He heaved a sigh and gave the coat a shake, smiling again at how it shimmered and sparkled in the light. "Let's do this."

A curt dip of his chin and Dean gathered a high powered rifle with a scope, flares and a flare gun and headed for the nearest ladder. As he started climbing he turned back to Sam. "Stay away from them, keep your head down and don't get shot."

"Yeah. You too. Okay?"

"That's the plan, Sammy."

Giving his brother one last look, Sam gathered up the coats and headed toward the livery door.

It didn't take him more than a few minutes to get the coats secured to the hooks and placed one on each of the wires running between the buildings. Giving them a shove, they slid along until they dangled over the middle of the street, separated by a few yards.

Keeping close to the buildings, Sam slipped along the sidewalk, glancing back every few feet to the spot he knew Dean was watching from. He could barely make out the glint of Dean's rifle nozzle. If he didn't know where to look, he'd never see it.

The low rumble of an engine drew Sam's attention farther down the street, near where it intersected another. Cautiously peering around the corner, he got a good enough look at the truck to know both men were inside. Swallowing hard, Sam drew in a deep breath and sprinted across the intersection, assuring he'd be seen by the truck's occupants.

The driver gunned the truck's engine and the squeal of tires told Sam the vehicle was bearing down on him. A soft whistle and the coat farthest from the livery lit up. The force of impact from the flare shoved the flaming garment along the wire and straight into the path of the truck. Veering off, Sam sprinted down the sidewalk on the far side of the street as the truck smashed straight through one of the buildings.

Two shots and both back tires of the truck blew out.

Whether or not the two men inside the truck thought the flaming, shining coat was some sort of spirit or not Sam had no clue. He did see the air bag go off, but the passenger wasn't as lucky as the driver. The man was thrown through the windshield. He slid over the hood of the truck and rolled to the ground as pieces of the building clattered down.

The driver shoved open the truck door and was out, stumbling over the debris, shotgun in one hand, he stopped long enough to catch sight of Sam, before climbing over the wreckage and bolting after Sam.

Running away from the truck and out to the street Sam veered back toward the livery and cut across the street when he reached the center, ducking under the wires. He slowed down, listening for the sound of footsteps behind him. As they closed in on Sam he ducked to the sidewalk and into a doorway when the second coat flashed and ignited.

Shouting, the man looked more than a little bit freaked. He backpedaled, pulling his shotgun up and firing at it. The coat kept right on moving along the wire, oblivious to the fact it'd been shot. Backing away, firing again the man's heel caught on the rough wood of the sidewalk and he pitched backwards.

"No!" Sam shouted, holding out both arms when the man pulled to a sitting position and leveled the shotgun at him.

The man ignored him and it was the last thing he ever did. One shot from Dean, straight and true, and the man fell backwards, dead.

Grinding his teeth, but not really able to feel very sorry for the guy, Sam ran back to the crashed truck. Throwing the boards and planks scattered over and around it to one side, Sam searched out the other man.

Bits of blood were on the ground, but the trail ended a few feet into the building. Sam stopped, and squinted into the interior of the building. It was difficult to see in the dim, murky lighting. Ears straining, Sam knew the injured man couldn't have gotten too far. Stepping away from the truck, Sam listened intently, but heard nothing.

Farther into the building it got darker, harder to see and still he heard no movement. Drawing in a deep breath and letting it out very slowly, Sam backed away, getting closer to the truck again. Maybe the guy had gone outside the building, not farther inside. It was doubtful, since the man would most likely be dead right now if he'd gotten to the street, but he supposed anything was possible.

Moving cautiously, Sam kept his back pressed to the side of the truck as he crept along its length. He was about to lean around the back end for a better view of the front of the building and the street when the third man spoke.

"Don't move, kid." A nasal voice accompanied the sound of a shotgun pump.

Sam slowly put both hands in the air, shifting his eyes to the street. Dean was nowhere in sight, and he couldn't see the upper windows of the livery, which meant Dean couldn't see him.

"I don't know what you and your buddy were doing snooping around, or how you did all that crap back at the mine, but you're done now."

"Listen, we didn't do anything. You probably won't believe me but—"

"Shut it!" The man balanced most of his weight on one foot, his other leg oozing blood from somewhere around his mid-thigh and a variety of cuts across his face and hands. "In the truck, you're driving."

Sighing, Sam pointed to the back tires. "We're not going anywhere, they're flat."

"We'll get far enough." He shoved at Sam with the shotgun muzzle.

Sam shrugged and made his way to the driver's side door, opened it and climbed in, brushing glass out of the way as he did so. The man hobbled to the other side, keeping his gun trained on Sam the entire time. Climbing in he nodded at Sam to start the truck.

It took a few tries but the engine finally kicked over. Sam put the truck into reverse and pressed his foot on the gas pedal. The tires spun and ground, but it didn't help much other than cause the truck to lurch backwards a few feet.

"We can't drive in the snowstorm this way."

"I said shut it!" This time the man's fist connected hard with Sam's jaw.

His head whipped around and cracked the side window making his head spin and ears ring. One word got through to his brain. "Down!" Sam immediately slouched farther down in his seat and brought his arms up over his head, ducking down and to the side.

The glass of the door window shattered and exploded over Sam's back. The man in the seat beside him grunted and collapsed forward. Fingers curled in Sam's coat and shook him.

"Sam? Sammy, you okay?" Dean was already opening the truck door and hauling Sam out, wrapping one arm around his shoulders to steady him until he got his feet securely under him.

Blinking at his brother, Sam shook bits of glass out of his hair and nodded, holding one hand against Dean's arm until the world stopped seesawing up and down and his balance returned. He didn't have to look back at the man in the truck to know he was dead. Dean simply never missed, at any distance.

They loaded the two bodies into the truck and dowsed the entire thing with gasoline. Silently they set it on fire and made sure it was burning before heading back to the Impala.

Once settled in their car, Dean handed Sam a rag and bottle of water. "You know they killed people for some stolen cars. What happened with the ghosts was a coincidence, but that was just as wrong. Those men got what they deserved. We did our job, released the ghosts, and stopped the killings."

"I know." Sam dabbed at his jaw with the cool water then leaned back and let his head drop to the seatback. "Still they were people."

"They were monsters, Sam, simply a different kind than we normally deal with." Dean started the car, and guided it out of the livery.

Dean's words were spoken with such conviction, Sam had no choice but to agree and that gave him more comfort than anything else ever could. He let his eyelids drift shut and smiled softly when Dean reached over and patted his shoulder.

* * *

Wrapping his knuckles softly on the bathroom door, Dean cracked it open just far enough to talk through. "Hey, you didn't drown in there, did you?" He couldn't help grinning when he heard water sloshing in the deep tub. "Pizza is here."

"M'kay."

Dean heard the distinct sound of wet feet hitting the tile floor and shuffling across. The door creaked open farther and Sam shuffled out, wearing sweats and a t-shirt, towel draped over his shoulders. Tossing it aside, Sam pulled on the heavy hoodie Dean had left sitting on his bed and offered him a grateful smile. "Thanks."

"Feel better?" Dean asked between bites of his pizza.

"Yeah, I do." Sam settled on the other bed, pulling one of the pizza boxes onto his lap. "You were right about those guys."

Dean nodded. "It still sucks though. Nothing else we could do, they didn't leave us any choice. It was them or us, Sammy. Them or innocent people who would have died if they weren't shut down."

Sam nodded, but was too busy concentrating on his pizza to speak actual words, which was fine with Dean. "Finally warm." Sam mumbled and leaned forward to set the pizza box on the table between the beds.

Dean reached over and turned off the light, leaving nothing but the television on. "We're snowed in for a few days, I think."

The soft rumble from the other bed and the rustle of blankets and sheets was what answered Dean. He didn't have to look to know Sam was nestling down and more asleep than awake. He lowered the sound on the television and glanced over at his mostly asleep brother.

Killing those men wasn't Dean's first choice, not by a long shot, but it had become their only choice. The option of keeping his brother alive and well was really the only option Dean ever considered. In a day or two they'd put this town and it's problems in their rear view mirror, which couldn't happen fast enough for him.

Sliding down under the blankets, Dean listened to the television and the sound of Sam's soft breathing a few feet away and knew they'd gotten out of this with what was important. Each other.

The End


End file.
